World of Wheezes
by Byakugan789
Summary: If a misplaced butterfly in japan could cause tornadoes in London imagine what George Weasley could do in the world of warcraft... A tale of might and magic, for you r enjoyment, welcome to the ultimate expression of Murphy's law as ten years after the war with Voldemort the surviving twin tears apart the best lain plans of mice and men.
1. Ignition

World of Wheezes.

A Harry Potter Warcraft crossover

By Byakugan

Related Lore by Blizzard Entertainmen and JKRowling, Story by me.

~! #$%^&*()_+

George Weasley sat alone in his shop, inscribing runes on the back of a mirror. The idea had come to him several years ago when visiting his sister-in-law Hermione and she had explained the concept of the 'cell-phone'. The wizarding world had possessed two-way communication mirrors for nearly three thousand years, but they were always point-to-point communicators shared between and crafted by great sages. Even in recent centuries when silvered glass has stopped being such a difficult endeavor and was no longer prone to distortions, communication mirrors had remained unusual and again, point-to-point, with only legendary artifacts made by scryers able to do anything different. But then the muggles had come up with the computer and everything turned on its head.

George chuckled as he repositioned his wand and edited a character in the upper right hand corner of the laminated silver. Upon adding the mirrors to the Wheezes inventory they had been literally flying off the shelf and he and his employees could not make them fast enough. The gold he made from his joke items was enough that he and his brother could have retired before the man's death and lived comfortably for a century; but these… his new line of products, most of them inspired by the bushy-haired muggleborn, had made him enough gold to contend with the Malfoys for control of the House of Lords. This new mirror he was modifying would be able to do all that his previous versions had, IE calling anyone else in the world who also had one of his mirrors, blocking calls from specific callers, projecting the callers image as either a flat reflection or a full apparition, scrying unprotected people and places around the world and recording conversations for later playback, but would also be able to record, save and play back a selection of books for the user. The data storage matrix was small and crude at the moment, but he was sure that with a few months dedicated work he could build it up to the levels of its latest muggle equivalent, the IPhone.

"Mr. Weasley, sir?" George looked up. One of his numerous employees, Jasper or something, was quivering and sweating in the doorway. George thought for a few seconds, he was one of the newer executive assistants. He'd probably been the one to draw the short straw as he'd given instructions that he was not to be disturbed.

"What is I Jasper? I was I the middle of something." George wasn't sure exactly when it had happened but as his company had begun expanding and hiring new help at an accelerated rate he had somehow gotten a reputation for performing outlandish and humiliating pranks on people who disturbed him while he was inventing. _Honestly_ he thought_ turn a few people into poultry and hex another to speak backwards for a week and suddenly you're a monster!_

"A hooded man with glowing eyes is here to see you sir, he wouldn't take no for an answer. He said to tell you 'Lightning has struck'." The man fidgeted for a second before asking "Is it really him, sir? Harry Potter?"

George smiled. "Tell him Loki waits by the forge', Jasper. That will be all." George said, turning back to the mirror he was working on.

"My name is Jenson, sir." The man said quietly before bowing his way out.

Jenson, huh? George shrugged.

The man had been right; it was Harry Potter waiting for him. After the war against Voldemort had ended at Hogwarts, claiming his brother Fred and so many others, Harry had refused the offered job as Minister of Magic and tried to join the Auror corps. His brother-in-law had put in some serious effort and, after a year of being coached by Hermione, had passed the final tests with flying colors… a full three years ahead of his peer group. George had congratulated his friend over the achievement and received a wedding invitation in return. It had probably been the first day since Fred's death he had made a joke without it being forced.

But his friends happiness was not to last. Harry's marriage to Ginny had, and to George's knowledge, still was going… swimmingly, but Harry's career, the one request he had made of the new ministry, had gone nowhere. After two year of being a mascot rather than the detective he had trained and joined to be, his brother-in-law was still receiving nothing more exciting that playing security at pointless political functions and patrolling Diagon and Nocturne alley's. Harry had been furious and, after a confrontation with the head of the DMLE, had quit his job and joined the Unspeakables, taking the codename Thor. The head of the department, Croaker, and Hermione had thought the name funny somehow, though George was still at a loss.

Ever since then Harry had become James Bond and came to him for most of his heavy research and enchanted gadgets for various jobs the former Hero was working on at the time; traveling the world, righting wrongs, squashing dark lords, spying for England and other such suicidally adventurous nonsense.

"Evening, Thunderer." George said as Harry walked in and removed his hood. "Are we still on for dinner at Hermione's Saturday? Young Fred's still begging for more of your stories and Angelina's worried you're working too much. That mess in Baghdad was your doing, wasn't it?"

"Hello to you too, Forge. And that _totally_ wasn't my fault. These Jihadi cultists were messing with demon portals, trying to set the summoned monsters on American troops and endangering the statute of secrecy, not to mention the rest of the planet. It's hardly my fault their portals became unstable and backfired when their heads started rolling around on the ground…"

"It is when you're the one who's doing the cutting." George deadpanned.

"I didn't fire a single spell!" Harry said mocking an affronted look. "My visa didn't allow for that. I just apparated around asking questions I shouldn't be asking, exactly as the Council of the Magi said."

"And you goaded them into cursing you while standing too close to the summoners, I get it." George sighed. "Were you able to make any use of the blood magic you needed me to research for you?"

"Yeah, it saved my life several times. Got me through their wards and allowed me to figure out how to disrupt the rituals without destroying half of east Europe, Asia and Africa in the process. Did you get any use out of it?"

George nodded. "Yeah, I finished the research and have been taking a break from the books to update a few of my products while I digest everything. There's an incredible wealth of knowledge and uses for that branch of magic, I can't imagine why it was ever outlawed. I mean, sure, the bubonic plague was bad, but it was created by a dark lord, of course it was going to be Evil! I'm still working on product ideas though, I know that's not why you came over." George said, putting down the mirror and looking directly at his friend now. "What do you need?"

Harry was silent for a long time, just looking at the wall. George knew not to push the man, he had always been bad with his feelings and tended lashed out under pressure, even when he knew the questioner genuinely cared. "It's been ten years to the day since Sirius died." Harry said finally.

"No."

Harry looked at him shocked, "George, I looked at the calendar when I got back, I have that date burned into my mind, what do you mean 'no'?"

"I mean," George said, leaning back in his chair and holding Harry's gaze "that you need to go home and spend time with my sister. Your sons and Lily may understand that their father is a globetrotting Hero, but that doesn't mean they don't miss you, and Ginny misses you."

Harry looked away. "Ginny doesn't miss me." He said sullenly. "She's too busy with her Quidditch career to do something so mundane as that."

George palmed his face. "You two are still having that argument? You've been married what, six years? Seven?"

"Yes!" Harry snapped. "She still thinks that because I have a flexible work schedule that I'm personally insulting her by not attending Every Single Game the Holyhead Harpies play! And I try, I really try, I'm there Every game I'm in the same country and try to work my adventures around her games, but Evil simply doesn't wait for her! How is it she can't see that? And don't get started on me, I get enough of the lectures on how It's not my job to shoulder the world's problems for them."

"I know," said George "I know, you just can't stand idly by when you see something wrong. You've told me this before and your argument never changes." George held up his hands at his friend's outraged look. "I'm not siding with her, I think you both need to grow up and take a vacation together somewhere sunny. Now, were you only here to avoid your wife, or…"

"Well, I would like your help researching the veil." George gave him a hard look. "Come on, George, you're the best artificer and spell theorist I know and that's including from Hermione!" then he perked up "It'll also keep me home and supporting Ginny while you work!" He pointed out, pleading clear in his eyes..

"You need to put Sirius and Tonk' deaths behind you Harry…" George said heavily. "Go home, say hello to your boys, entertain Lily, take care of Teddy. You're his Sirius now, you need to forgive yourself before you waste that."

"But that's just it, George. I don't **know** what happened to Sirius. One moment he was there and the next Bella's stunner has thrown him through the veil. Why didn't he come back, where did he go? What happened to him? You know I can't rest while a mystery remains unsolved; I've been that way since first year. Before even. I'd do it myself, but for all my brains and increased drive I need the kind of stuff you and Hermione have to stand a chance of understanding the veil, and you know me. I can learn anything by feel and action, but this theory stuff just blows my mind. And just so you know, I'd have just jumped into the veil years ago and to see where it leads if I didn't have my kids here waiting for me."

George looked at his friend and brother for several minutes while he calmed down from his tirade. "Fine." He said eventually. "I'll think about it."

~! #$%^&*()_+

Harry, to George's surprise, was as good as his word. He went to Croaker the next day and took his accumulated vacation days from his last five years of service and asked for a short stint in the research division upon his return. He patched things up with Ginny, entertained his kids and Ted Tonks, caught up with his friends and generally took the quiet life for a little while. The only down side to this was he was now constantly visiting the shop and failing to be subtle about his wish to work on the veil.

George shook his head. The new mirrors had been as big a success as he had expected and he was already getting massive foreign orders from across Europe and his marketing group was dealing a silent war with competing models that were popping up in several American companies.

He had also found a means by which to revitalize blood magic. Deciding to start small with an expansion to his discerning teen witches line George had made an engraved metal plate that required blood from the user in a specific, variable number of the seven rune shaped pools and more blood from a target person, muggle or magical. The utilizing a rune map provided with the plate the user could focus upon and direct changes to themselves ranging from their hair type or color, eye color, or even skin condition dependent on what you wanted to look like and who you could get a few drops of blood from. These plates had stunned him by turning out to be particularly popular with kids, male and female, who had powerful acne as one of them had figured out that they could cure it entirely by getting a bit of blood from someone who didn't suffer as they had. Unfortunately there was a corresponding increase in the number of broken, bloody noses Madam Pomfrey was being forced to see to. While nobody had any proof it was in any way his fault or that the desperate children had been directed by him to do so, he had still ended up having to spend nearly two hours calming down the fuming matron.

George was just glad the open knowledge of the situation hadn't passed beyond the school yet. He was rolling in money for bribes and probably wouldn't miss it, but he didn't want to get a reputation similar to the Malfoy's.

Looking for a solution to the problem George had turned to Hermione who had shown him the muggle wonder known as 'the syringe'. The syringe was a small potion flute with a needle attached to the end of it that drew blood into itself. It didn't take George long to figure out how it worked, but he was certain that advocating stabbing people with sewing needles was going to get him into trouble somehow, so instead he worked out a rune charm similar to that used in blood-quill that pulled blood directly from the veins of those whose skin touched the end of the much shortened glass flutes. None of his plates needed much blood to activate and he knew well what a pain blood loss could be. It was also an endless source of amusement for him how he'd managed to create a new fashion trend and business world among the insecure ickle kiddies. Imagine, selling your blood because you had some popular trait… George giggled as he watched one Ravenclaw auction off small vials of his blood after winning the houses annual in house knowledge/magic/trivia tournament.

~! #$%^&*()_+

It was six months from when Harry had first begged him to begin researching the veil when the redhead finally decided his friend was truly serious about the issue and wasn't going to let it go. So, he put the latest version of his blood plate in his bag and went to visit his friend. Their meeting for Christmas dinner had been scheduled for several weeks now, so George picked up Angelina from her office at the Harpies pitch, little Freddy from the house and they flooed to the Potter Mansion.

The Potter Mansion had been Ginny Weasley's idea. Originally a four bedroom cottage in Devon, Ginerva, now Potter, had spent evenings after practice and between games gradually transfiguring the estate from a humble abode Harry had fallen in love with, into a grand manner house with spacious gardens, a large menagerie and their own Quidditch pitch. It hadn't taken much, a small transfiguration here, a space expansion charm there, a bit of transmutation and summoning done in about an hour after work each day over the course of nine months and voila. Most of the Magic were transfiguration, a branch of sorcery that was permanent unless specifically reversed and the fiery ginger had received an outstanding NEWT in the subject. Most of the plants had been outright given to them by Neville and Hagrid had been more than happy to provide his friends with a veritable zoo of common and bizarre magical creatures. The entire complex was maintained by seven house elves, all of whom had volunteered to serve 'The Great And Kind Harry Potter, Sirs!'

Harry Hated it.

Despite not costing them a galleon the place was outwardly ostentatious and reminded George's brother-in-law of the Malfoy's home with its gilded everything, too many rooms all enlarged to make the occupants feel small and dozens of things for which the dark haired man could discern no purpose. George didn't come over for dinner very often because when Harry was there he and Ginny would often have quiet, but heated battles as he tried to transfigure the place into a homier configuration and coloring as opposed to the grand palace of his wife's girlhood dreams.

George shook his head as he came out of the fireplace to find Ginny 'correcting' another of Harry's attempts to make the place more welcoming and less courts of Avalon.

"Oh, hello, George! Angelina, Freddy, I'm so glad you could come!" Ginny said warmly, stopping her casting and walking over to them to envelope each in a tight hug. "Harry's in his study playing with the children. It is nice to have him home more often, thank you for that, brother. Do you know if Ron and Hermione are still coming?"

"No," George shook his head "Ron got a surprise raid today with the hit wizards, some hot tip that couldn't wait. Hermione's coming though."

George listened absently as the two women talked about their recent practices with the harpies and what the lineup was likely to be for the next game against Dublin's team. As much as he like Quidditch it simply hadn't held the same fascination for him as I had all those years ago I school when his brother was still alive. _Ah well_ he thought _and so life moves on_. He still attended all of his wife and sisters games, but he'd long sopped avidly following the progression of various teams.

Reaching Harry's study, one of the few places Ginny had never been able to properly interfere with the decor, George kissed his wife on the cheek and left the pair of them. Entering the room he found I much as he remembered, warm earth tones, rich burgundies, oak furniture and book cases covering the walls. Above the fireplace were a pair of paintings, one of Harry's parents that they'd found in the family vault after the war and one of Morgana LeFey George was sure Harry had stolen right out of either Hogwarts or he department of mysteries.

Harry was in the middle of the floor halfway through his animagus form of a jet black Hebridean dragon while his kids giggled, shrieked and pretended to attack him, young James even throwing streams of sparks at his father from time to time with his bare hands. "Playing dragon tamer again?" George asked loudly. Letting off a bellowing laugh and transforming quickly, Harry snatched little Lily from where she was falling off his shoulders and held her upside down by the waist, tickling the shrieking girls ribs as he walked over to join George at the door.

"What can I say?" Harry asked, grinning. "Keep it small and don't morph the claws, and the kids love it. Can't wait till they're big enough to take flying though." He deftly flipped his daughter over in his hands and set her down in front of Little Fred. The boy pressed back into his father's legs and Lily hid behind hers, blushing. "You said you had something for me?"

"Yeah." George answered, moving further into the room and ushering little Fred over to where James, Teddy and Albus sat. "I've been working on improvements to the blood magic plates and I need some samples to test a new sequence I've built. On top of that I've also decided you're serious enough about the veil that neither ignoring it or trying to talk you out of investigating the damn thing is possible, so, I'd like to propose a trade."

"What sort of trade?" Harry asked, warily, his arms crossed, eyes glowing faintly.

"Nothing dangerous. I've been collecting samples of blood from people with rare magical abilities, beast tongues, seers, people who are unusually adept at various wandless types of magic, that sort of thing. With each of the previous subjects I've purchased their blood, but with you, we both want something special, something we see as nonnegotiable."

"You want my parceltongue and I want the veil." Harry said nodding.

"Not quite," George replied, scratching the back of his head "I've already got someone else's parceltongue, though I'd be quite happy to gain yours for cross-referencing. No, I want Teddy's blood."

The light in Harry's eyes transforming and becoming slitted emeralds. "_What?_" he hissed. He hadn't dipped into the snake tongue, but the edge and tone of his voice had caused the kids to freeze and look at the pair of them nervously.

"I just need a few drops Harry, it won't even hurt. If it works this can be one of the special clearance products and require a full legillimancy interrogation and personality check to purchase. The blood will never move off site and I'll happily give it to the rest of your family as well."

"Metamorpmagi is a dangerous skill." Harry growled keeping his voice low so the children supposedly couldn't hear him. "It may not make the person bad, but in the hands of someone without morals, it's as dangerous a weapon as any dark art!"

"So is the ability to become a dragon or use a wand, but I don't see you binding your magic, snapping your wand and advocating that others do the same. Personally I see metamorphmagi as more of a curiosity toy than a danger. You still show up on ward-maps as who you really are, so it's not as if it can be abused. Everyone has full wards these days, especially since I started releasing the Marauders Map as a service industry. The only real problem will be in recognizing people who have the ability and you know how Hermione's been pushing wandless magic instruction at Hogwarts."

George sighed as Harry glared at him for several minutes. Then, finally he spoke. "You swear on your magic you'll find out where the veil leads and what happened to Sirius?"

George raised an eyebrow, sighed, and then held up his hand, sparks of magic dancing between his fingers. "I, George Gideon Weasley, do swear that in exchanging for blood samples from Theodor Tonks Black, Heir of the House of Black and Harry James Potter, lord of the house of Potter, Lord of the House of Black that I shall put my upmost abilities and resources into discerning the nature of the so named 'veil of death' and the fate of one Sirius Orion Black, son of the House of Black, former Lord of the House of Black. So I have sworn, so mote it be; let my magic punish me should I lie or cease my efforts without the consent of Harry James Potter."

The sparks of Magic in Georges raised hand flared brightly and went out. George snapped his fingers and conjured a small candle flame in his palm and showed it to Harry. Harry studied him and, seeing that here was no pain or loss of magic, created his own flame and the pair of them clasped hands. "You know, you could have just used your wand instead of this dog and pony show." He dark haired man said smiling.

"Yeah, but then I wouldn't be me, now would I?" George pointed out grinning. "I've been a showman my whole life, why stop now?"

Things went smoothly after that. George brought out a series of vials and demonstrated one on himself before collecting blood from Harry and then Teddy. He had pulled out the grooved silver board he'd crafted and was halfway through a laymans description of how it worked when the door opened again and the three Weasley wives sauntered in.

Angelina sashayed up to George and kissed him I the cheek while Hermione looked with interest at the silver plate. "So, Hermione's finally arrived, and Pinky's done with dinner. How about you two, what's captured your attention so readily tonight? You were awful eager to get here earlier."

"Oh, just a project I wanted Harry's input on." George said easily, leaning back to kiss her back. The two of them went at it for a couple of seconds before breaking apart and smiling. Then Angelia caught sight of the silver plate and made a face.

"That icky blood thing you've been obsessed with for the last year?" Angelia asked rhetorically, wrinkling her nose. "Never mind, I don't want to know. That stuff is even creepier than when you took that failed potion goop and tried to sell it as a pet…"

"Hey," cut in Hermione "I bought one of those, it was cute. It glows at the touch and hums if you stroke it." She said, giggling. "There's even this one wizards band that made a musical instrument using different sized blocks of the stuff!"

He whole room looked at her for several seconds, expressions bemused before George grinned "you'll have to send me a recording of their music sometime. I might put them under sponsorship if they're any good."

The group moved out towards the dining room, their children trailing behind and chattering noisily. Dinner was roasted potatoes with a thick gravy, butter and a mix of seasonings George didn't recognize; smoked cod with a honey glaze, sweet corn, a large loaf of freshly baked bread, a baked black current pudding and a selection of red wine from Ginny's stash. It wasn't bad George thought as he took a quick gulp, far too sweet though. But then that was his sister, the tomboy who thought she was a princess, even at the age of 25. It was hard to imagine she was still such a kid even after surviving a war and having three kids.

A treacle tart was being served at the end of the meal by Hermione's elf 'Brain' when the bushy haired muggle studies professor asked what George and Harry had been working on.

"It's a theory of mine." The freckled inventor replied. "Ever since Harry asked me to use his authorization in the department of mysteries to research blood magic or sanguimancy, I've had this idea that the blood adoption ritual can be adapted for lesser more focused effects such as the passage of traits from one individual to another rather than going whole hog and becoming someone's parent, sibling or kid." He saw the girls giving him disgusted looks. "Oh, don't give me that, Blood magic is incredibly useful! It fell out of style when the ICW banned it in the mid nine hundreds after the dark lord of the generation used it to create the black plague, but before then it was used for all sorts of things, particularly healing. Hermione, I know you've asked Madam Pomfrey how wizards claim to have maintained such a high level of health care for ten thousand years when nearly all medical potions charms and transfigurations are a mere fifteen hundred year old or less, here's your answer. Blood magic has applications in battle, healing, curses, wide scale destruction; warding, summoning, scrying and physical enhancement spells. Most of our current self enhancement potions these days use the blood of dragons, giants or other magical creatures for one effect or another, where do you think they got the idea?"

"But if it's banned by the ICW then why are you using it?" Angelina asked worriedly. "Couldn't that get you in serious trouble?"

"Perhaps," George agreed "except that the lobbyist I hired told me that the bans on blood magic are in a section of the text that hasn't been referenced in nearly three hundred years after most world governments had succeeded in burying all knowledge of it in their personal state archives. It won't be brought up until I start trying to export the product and Minister Shacklebolt is a friend of ours. I know it's fairly Slytherin of me, but I'm working on getting that section of the ICW charter quietly erased before I add the plates to our off foreign storefronts."

"Back on topic though, I've been calculating blood runes and diagrams to allow for the passage and expression of specific traits from one person to another. Hermione, I'm sure you noticed it at Hogwarts, students coming in with silver plates and different hair and eye types?"

"Yes, it's been quite frustrating. I knew it wasn't a charm or transfiguration because I couldn't quietly dispel it even with my wand out." Hermione said frowning. "You've had me researching and working frantically on my control for four months George! You will let me look at your research and notes at least?"

"Sure. Thing is though, my most recent project has been designing a plate to transfer rare magical skills and gathering the required blood samples."

"Rare magical talents…" Ginny interrupted, "you mean Teddy. It's Christmas brother, what have you done to my godson!?"

"I've done nothing to him, Ginevra." George said, stressing her name in irritation. "I am however willing to do something to the lot of you, if you're interested." He held up the plate. "I've checked my calculation on this a hundred times and I already know it works on the beast tongues for wolf, dragon, snake, bird and mermish and the magical talent of the minor seer Abigail Waldwick."

"Waldwick?" Hermione asked. "You mean the woman on the wizarding international post who's been banned from gambling after bankrupting over a hundred casino's?"

"Yeah," George said with a grin "she was quite willing to trade a pint of her blood for my experiments in exchange for a new blood-locked look. She was cute, if a little mousy, before but she's an absolute fire ball now. She's a minor seer with the ability to see as far as a minute ahead of herself with a bit of concentration. Been using it to clear out casinos ever since her fiancé ran off with her family's money and moved to Taiwan with his girlfriend. I'm still working on how that one activates but I get flashes every now and then. Point is, now I have Teddy's metamorph blood and I'm offering the lot of you a chance to join him in the talent. Seemed like a good Christmas present to me. Kid gets some peace of mind not having to feel strange about his ability and you all get a new toy."

Hermione, fascinated as always with the chance to learn something new, accepted right away. Harry did as well, having already had time to think over Georges proposal and relishing the thought of being able to walk around without his unspeakable robes and not be mobbed. Ginny on the other hand declined and had to be stared down after she tried to forbid James, Lily and baby Albus from being able to take the skill. Little Fred and Hermione's daughter Rose agreed because their parents had and Angelina didn't say anything, but got this wicked grin on her face.

"Last chance Gin-gin," George teased "back out now and I'll make you buy it like everybody else." Ginny gave him a dirty look and slouched in her chair in a huff. The procedure went smoothly; Teddy's blood was placed in the center of the silver plate and each user placed their fingers on specifically enchanted indents. Blood was drawn out of their veins to fill the diagrams and basin runes ad then there was a flash of light. Hermione was the first of the new users to begin using her metamorph abilities, turning her bushy mane to a sleek straight crimson while looking in a mirror. Harry was next to successfully make a change and then Angelina. The children all discovered how to work it at the same time and were soon giggling as they imitated each other's features.

As everybody was making ready to leave Hermione pulled George aside. "You mentioned other beast tongues earlier. I'd always assumed there were more, but I'd never been able to find reference. Could you tell me what you found?"

George nodded. "According to the departments tablets; not books even because they were just that old, the beast tongues originated from a druid adapting a translation charm for blood magic, literally keying the ability to speak to whatever creature he was trying to contact at the time into his very blood. As the druids were traditionally a fairly tight knit community he naturally shared his work with others and some took to doing it themselves, Naturally the most famous ones became those who spoke to serpents. People are afraid of snakes, irrationally compared with the danger of most other creatures out there. I'm still working out the arithmancy on doing it myself, but with the access Harry's about to give me to the department of mysteries… well, It's only a matter of time. Speaking of which, if you want to take time off campaigning for the imps I could use you as an evening research partner."

Hermione who had been nodding along and looking pensive until this point scowled fiercely. "They're _not_ imps, they're brownies! Honestly George, how many times do I have to keep telling you!"

"How many times can you deny house elf breeding being a sacrificial ritual in favor of muggle German folklore?" he replied with a grin.

"That's just an effect of the spell used to bind them into slavery!" Hermione refuted petulantly.

"Three of them commit suicide in a pool of blood, explode, then the entire thing catches of fire and anywhere between five and thirteen of the little buggers hop back out." George said as he walked into the green flames of the Potters floo. "That doesn't strike you as an odd thing for a naturally helpful little fey to do?"

~! #$%^&*()_+

George stood, leaning up against the arch way in the chamber of death, an extendable ear hooked into one of his ears and the other side poking through the shimmering light field that made the veil. He was grinning brightly as he worked on his latest project inspired by Hermione Granger. _Wonderful people, muggles,_ he thought, _so frighteningly inventive… honestly, eyes in the sky_ he marveled,_ who would have thought of it_?

Working on the veil for the past several weeks had been frustrating. Carved from a solid mass of Avalonian basalt the outer edges of the arch were rough and jagged and inlaid with runework that hadn't been seen since pre-Arthurian times when dragons still deigned to work with humans rather than savagely attack on sight. The inner edges of the archway, however, were smooth as silk and inlaid with swooping jagged rune work that looked like it had been made by claws. Small, sharp claws that easily could easily rend stone judging by how he stone chipped up in a smooth trail without deviation in depth or straightness…

Regardless he had been reviewing the department's records of the veil rune studies extensively for weeks. The samples were too small to work out much of anything because, surprisingly, Merlin of all people had been quite thorough in destroying any and everything to do with the old religion and dragon magic in England and beyond. Without those magic's in quantity to reference the department hadn't been able to make heads or tails of the ancient artifact besides what it did.

The arch way was a portal. Plain and simple. No one quite knew where the portal led, only that it had a piece carved out of it and was now broken and no one had ever returned from passing through it, even people with Horcruxes. Boy didn't he wish they'd known that eleven years ago… George had started his practical tests of the portal with a simple stick. Six feet long and held loosely he had shoved the thing through the portal up to half way and then drawn it out. The wood where it had passed through the glistening watery energy of the doorway came back burnt and covered in black and plum energies with small traces of every color the wizarding tinker could conceive of, including several sparks which he go a headache simply from looking at them.

Running over the rod with dozens of different diagnostic charms he had corroborated the DoM's findings that the predominant color of purple was pure concentrated magic, strong and thick enough to light magical England for a year whereas the wisps of black which made up nearly 40 percent of the energy clinging to the wood was the very same power that held ghosts and other spirits together. Power and death, a portal to a place so thick in both that it tainted the very air with enough energy to roast a piece of wood just from a few seconds exposure. Thus coupled with the lack of people trying to return through the device the archway gained the moniker 'the veil of death'.

So, naturally, George had decided to challenge this.

He'd first started with animals; a rabbit in an iron cage, a cat held by the tail, a dog on a leash. Each creature was stuck partway through the veils magical field before being drawn back. The cat died, the right side of its body sparking with violet lighting and cooked clean through and the dog hadn't fared much better, held and pulled back by its collar, covered in odd glowing loops and whorls of black and purple energy. The thing had given a piteous bark and had a heart attack on the spot. The Rabbit however had been fine. Obviously George was confused so he put the furry white ball of fluff aside and sent a dozen newly purchased rabbits against and even through the veil to see what the difference was. Each of these rabbits died, much the same as the dog and cat had and the ones who passed entirely through the veil didn't come back at all.

The first rabbit, as it turned out, was one of the kind bred by stage magicians who skirted the edges of statute of secrecy by performing magical versions of muggle stage tricks for easy money and a chance to bait muggles without the ministries of their current country coming down on them. The rabbits were fed potions to increase their intelligence and give them certain magical powers such as the ability to turn themselves into top hats, use literally any hat as a portal and several other questionable skills, such as pickpocketing. Wanting to test out his theory George had purchased several more of these Rabbits, an extra post owl and a Krupp. The owl and Krupp received the earlier halfway treatment while the rabbits were placed at varying stages from just brushing to all the way through the portal. The rabbit that had gone completely through had disappeared with the others but all of the other animals survived largely unharmed.

Thus George determined that while not protecting you entirely, magic did shield a person from the effects of the portal and the energies on the other side bringing him to his current project, first the extendable ears and now, a free floating glass eyeball he was enchanting to work as a third eye, connected directly into his mind. Since diagnostic spells cast upon the veil did nothing and the extendable ears only gave him the same unintelligible whispers as standing beside it, the next logical step was to look inside the damn thing.

That did not however, include him being stupid enough to stick his head in the thing. Magic being able to resist the effects of the other side of the portal for a time or not, who knew what the damn thing might do to a person?

Brushing a bit of glass dust off of the prosthetic eye George studied the runic circle he'd drawn into the thing. "Looks good" he said absently. Taking out his wand the red-haired wizard began tapping the tip back and forth between his brow just above his nose and the runed prosthetic, muttering in Latin as he did so. After seven taps his vision became strained as his mind tried to process the third incoming perspective. Letting go of the eye George commanded it to hover two feet from his face and look at him. His vision instantly cleared as his brain resolved the incoming information by associating it with that of a mirror. Opening his journal he circled the calculations and method for the latest version of the eye and sent a copy to the master print in his shop where it joined the list of things for his employees to craft and stock in their spare time. Wonderful little things, communal books, been around for millennia. I was a pity they weren't more widely used though. Probably a safety feature to stop idiots from pranking scholars by sending in inane changes to useful texts.

George spent the next hour playing around with the eye, trying to get used to the new disjointed perspective. It wasn't too bad when he closed his eyes, but needing to do that every time you used the eye would make it less of a useful toy and more of a hassle.

Still.

Forcefully pulling himself out of his musings, George directed the eye to hover in front of the veil. The archway looked different to the magical eye, enchanted as it was to read magical energy. Instead of a rippling water-like silver light it became a swirling vortex of plum and black with arcs of an odd dark green energy that hurt to look at jumping between the folds of power. Urging the enchanted glass forward so that it passed through the veil, George waited impatiently for some sort of image to clear up from the ever shifting storm of plum.

~! #$%^&*()_+

Harry walked into the room of death looked toward the podium. George had called him over their priority mirrors, another of the redhead's every growing list of blood enchanted items. It was really getting fairly annoying how obcessed his friend was becoming with subject, but not only was it his fault the Weasley inventor had started on the path, he couldn't fault the man's grasp of utility, everything he made was damn useful. The mirrors for instance were a definite upgrade over his normal ones in that they would respond directly to the users thoughts and intentions, held a vastly increased amount of data and couldn't be stolen. The downside to them, if it even was one, was that the supid bits of silver and glass seemed to be developing personalities. A lot of enchanted and animated items did as a side effect of the waded wizardries intent based casting, but when your phone tried flirt with you and took to calling itself Sif, things were going too far.

"Sleeping on the job George? I thought you said this was important…" Harry said loudly, as he approached the archway.

"I said it might be important." The surviving twin replied without looking up or opening his eyes. "I've been using a new enchantment for the past week to explore the area beyond the veil and I think I might have found something."

"Oh?" Harry asked, instantly more attentive. "What was it? If it was Sirius you would have been much more excited."

"Possibly, but as I told you last month after testing the bunnies, I'm not entirely sure Sirius survived. Whatever's going on beyond that portal is dangerous."

"Yes, you've told me, ghost magic, chaos, pure energy and something green that gives you headaches." Harry narrowed his eyes momentarily "which had better not be another one of your jokes on my eyes, Weasely."

George lurched forward and put him in a headlock from point blank range, whipping off Harry's hood and messing with his already spiky, tufty hair. "And if it was, chum? What then?" his brother-in-law said with a laugh.

"Then I would match any of your previous pranks and set your wife on you." Harry growled, recovering, twisting Georges arm off of him and spinning the man around into a joint lock.

George winced, but grinned anyways. "Yeah, but I'd still win." Harry huffed, but let his friend and brother go.

"So, what have you found?"

"Structures" George said, suddenly serious. "They slipped away before I could get a good look on them, but it looked like a cross between Hermione's superman comic books crystal technology and Frankenstein's laboratory."

"So…what? There used to be a society of some sort there? Some magical disaster and it's been renamed by the mists of time as death or something?"

"I don't know, but it wasn't dead, whatever it was. When I got too close, the entire thing moved. Violet lightning poured out of the crystals, covered the frankenstien shit and it moved. I'd swear I was crazy, but I think I might have seen mummies in there too."

"Have you told Croaker yet?"

"No, not yet. He'd probably put this in the black files. I though you should know first. I've been pulling the eye back since the structure moved, and it should be back any-AHH!"

Harry watched in shock as a stream of brilliant violet white energy streamed out of the portal, connecting with his brother in law. As shock turned to adrenaline Harry whipped out his wand and started casting counter curses at the tendril, frantically trying to sever it. Then out of the silvery ripples of the arch shot a strip of linen cloth that wrapped itself around George's head and pulled the young man in.

Harry stood there, staring frantically at the barrier between this world and another. The fuck was he supposed to do now? He collapsed to his knees; it had taken him years and his own death to get over Sirius's disappearance, to accept that it wasn't entirely, or even mostly his fault, but now… George was gone too and this time it really was all his fault, he had asked the man to investigate the veil, begged him!

That was how they found Harry hours later, face blank of emotion, siting knees askew and staring at the veil, thick tracks of tears still leaking down his cheeks. The mind healers at Saint Mungo's told everybody that he was in a deep state of shock and only time would tell if he ever recovered.

~! #$%^&*()_+

On the other side of the barrier George twitched, eyes bulging, muscles clenched too tightly to properly scream. _**POWER!**_ rushed through him, like nothing he had ever felt before. Searing motes of every color danced along his flesh as plum and violet energy sang along his nerves, flowing in and out of his core and swelling it just short of exploding. It was pure ecstasy, pure pain, pure… he didn't even know what to call it… Every nerve in his body screamed with power, his core howled at him, acting as it always had to direct his power to save his life and the energies of the land of death tore into his flesh and charred his hair, seeking to fill what they obviously saw as a void. It was excruciating and beautiful all at the same time, he had never felt so much power! It was as if everything he ever dreamed of could be made manifest with but a thought while at the same time the world seemed as if it was closing in on him and denying every possibility. I was… maddening!

And then… it stopped.

George collapsed onto a cool shining surface that he could have sworn was mother-of-pearl. He looked around and saw that the dark mist of energy was still there, held at bay by glittering black metal tubes connected by ring washers and more purple lightning. Each facet of the barrier was pentagonal except for an area directly in front of him. This part of the dome started from one of the pentagonal barriers, but pushed out to connect with a circle with seven rings jutting into it. The lower six rings had purple, almost pink, energy crackling between them in two groups of arcs.

Whatever he had seen within the veil, it had found him…

George heaved himself up into a kneeling position slowly, groaning as his skin stretched painfully over a million blisters. Reaching into the pocket of his robes which shook with ash from their time among the wild energies of the veil and began poking at the swollen patches of skin, muttering. High as he was on raw magical energy, Georges wounds subsided quickly despite the Weasley boy's rather limited knowledge on the subject and he soon moved on to restoring his cloths. Repairing charms and transfigurations all around, George flopped back onto the deck and sighed. What a mess…

This did at least confirm a few theories. There were indeed people of some type here, the structure he had seen was real and it was indeed possible Sirius had survived, though for how long and where the old dog might be now George still had no clue.

Having no idea whether he was captive or rescued or how long it would be until he saw the mummies who ran the structure George pulled out a small leather bag and shoved his hand into it up to the elbow. Where was that mirror… After rummaging around for several seconds the redheaded sorcerer drew out his latest communication mirror, bloody runes that powered it sandwiched between two laminated pieces of silver. "Harry." He called into it. "Harry you there?"

"George!?"

George started, that strangled cry was most definitely _not_ Harry. "Angelina?" George asked. "What are you doing with Harry's mirror? Did he get pulled through too?"

There was a choked laugh and his wife's face appeared in the mirror, her eyes blotchy and red, her smile wide and happy despite the mess her hair was in or he thick tracks of tears running down her cheeks. "No, no, nothing like that. George, honey, we thought you were dead! The veil of death, no one's ever been known to survive crossing it and when we found Harry sitting in front of it crying when he was supposed to be meeting with you…"

"Don't worry, Ange, I'm not that easy to kill." George reassured his wife, voice soft. It hurt to know that he'd caused her pain and that he still needed to cause her more. "I'm not exactly sure how, when or if I'm going to get back though." He said looking around. "I seem to be in a cage, though it's design is rather open and easy to escape, the world beyond the veil isn't exactly what you'd call friendly."

Angelina gave him a watery smile and nodded. "Considering no one's ever returned it would either have to be that or a paradise." She paused for a moment. "How unfriendly are we talking?"

"Imagine a constant state of core overload and then step into a fire without a flame freezing charm." Angelina blanched.

"I'm so sorry, George. I don't suppose there'd be anything in your notes that might aid a rescue attempt? Harry's been in a coma ever since you went through nearly," she waved her wand and muttered "Tempus, eighteen hours ago. Considering where we thought you were I was planning your funeral." Two more tears tracked down her cheeks. "I'm glad I won't have to now."

"Oh, I don't know…" George replied, a small grin gracing his face "it might be fun to show up at my own funeral!"

Angelina giggled, a slightly hysterical edge to her voice. "Yes, that does seem like the kind of thing you would find amusing. I suppose I should put out that you're on… vacation? Sabbatical?"

George hummed thoughtfully. "Tell my executive assistant Piper that I'm dealing with unexpected business abroad and will call her periodically to see how things are going."

"May I assume by this exchange that you are a trader, Master George?" George whirled around, moving from a sitting position to crouching with his wand pointed at the source of the ethereal, multilayered voice. It was one of those mummies he had glimpsed through the mist, except that it was not a mummy as he was familiar with the concept. The creature before him, while wrapped in thin bandage like strips of cloth, had no noticeable body or mass but rather was comprised entirely of energy. It was vaguely humanoid in appearance with the bandages largely constraining its shape into a head, arms, legs and torso with two comparatively brighter spots of light for eyes.

"I suppose you could," George said "in my language and understanding of the word, but having dealt with Goblin's and their radically different idea of the concept… maybe?"

The creature seemed to nod and without face or expression somehow conveyed a thoughtful demeanor. "I shall consider you an apprentice trader then. You will have to forgive us our lack of accommodations; it is rare we receive traders this deep within the twisting nether."

Moving slowly George waved his wand behind him and conjured a chair before pausing "would you?"

The creatures demeanor had shifted to one of delight, though George was still confused on how he was even understanding such. "Oh, yes, certainly!" it said, that multilayered voice giving him the creeps. "I am of course familiar with numerous races of magic, if I could, however, perchance to examine your artifact? I would of course offer quite a bit in barter." It said that last part quickly, something George picked up on.

"That would depend on what you had to offer" Angelina's voice came through the mirror "releasing one's wand to another is considered of great value and is rarely done outside of duels or battle."

George conjured another chair and moved them both into the center of the space, conjuring a small table between them and setting the mirror up so that the three of them could speak on a triangle. "Oh, this is most exciting." The creature said. "Master George is a purveyor of arcane artifacts perhaps?"

"Sort of," George allowed deciding to work on Goblin rules for the time being "Though as this is a negotiation you have already taken much from this one and owe recompense. Perhaps your name for starters, trader?"

"Do forgive me my breach in etiquette." The thing managed an embarrassed countenance this time. "I am warp trader Ilos crew of the militant habitation heart of k'aresh under nexus prince Nazarra."

"So you're a magical race then?" George asked.

"Indeed. We are the commonly known to other corporeal races as the Ethereals and this vessel is associated with the Etherium Protectorate. I believe that is sufficient trade for the information I pulled out of you without properly initiating negotiations."

"So, what does this one want in exchange for information into the humans new movements and intentions in the void?"

Down to business then George decided. Might as well get to why I was looking around in here in the first place. "The whereabouts and condition of a certain human who came through here roughly ten years, eight months ago" George said promptly.

"Is that apprentice trader master George's offer or demand?"

"Yes." George said with a grin.

"Very interesting, you seek to trade the fugitive shape changer. The protectorate was beginning to wonder if that information was ever going to become of value. I do hope the profit margin is high for you though, despite his innocence, the cost of trading him will no doubt be quite steep."

"I design, create and modify, what is it you called my wand and mirror, arcane artifacts for a living. What is your price for him?"

The thing, ethereal, before him exuded a sense of deep amusement. "I must apologize for my lack of clarity, you are after all merely an apprentice trader. Ethereal's consider what you corporeal's term murder a trade in its own right. The difficulty and effort of slaying a person versus the reward of accomplishing such a task. Though I believe from your expressions I have erred again. Would you care to clarify the nature of your trade with Master Black?"

"Master Black was a close friend and guardian of my, ah, contractor." George said honestly. Harry had contracted him to divine Sirius's fate in a more definitive matter after all and from the Ethereals comments it was likely that the old dog and marauder was still alive somehow.

"Indeed, very interesting. We rescued him much as we did yourself. For your mirror I could charter a small vessel and deliver you to where we left him."

"Where you left him?" Angelina asked incredulously. "Just where did you put him that he couldn't find his way back to us after eleven years?"

"That was actually a bit of a… miscommunication on our part. Mr. Black was found floating deep into the nether on the verge of losing his corporeal form. The consortium was unsure he would survive such an event and so we stabilized him in exchange for profit at a later date, of which he provided far in excess of the value of his rescue. After that we offered him an escort home as I am yourself, only the world and people he described matched another world on our records and the portal through which you arrived had been dormant and unused since the collapse of Avalon so we did not have current or accurate records of it at the time."

"So… where did you send him?" George asked.

"Azeroth." He warp trader said. "We will be going to Azeroth."


	2. Splashdown

World of Wheezes chapter two, touch down.

Story by Byakugan

Related lore by Blizzard entertainment and JKRowling and company.

~! #$%^&*()_+

Auhors note. I apologize o everyone who isn't an avid a fan as myself and taken time to buy or find the books and lore sites online, but this chapter gets a little lore heavy. Nearly all characters are real (so to speak) and many of the things I mention here are expanded upon by Blizzard lore writers. The major thing I did that was neither part of the lore, nor of the changes allowed by Georges presence is the battle between Antonidas and Arthas. Think about it for a second. At the time of the scourge's first invasion Dalaran had a population of over a million citizens. About half of them had little or no magical talent and manned the cities defenses, general shops or acted as servants, but that still leaves a little over half a million of them as mages, most of whom have lived through two world wars. Does anyone honestly believe that Antonidas, leader of the council of six that runs Dalaran, most powerful non dragon mage is centuries and hero and tactician of two wars as well as being a skilled diplomat, would leave the entire cities defenses in the hands of three poorly defended arch mages against an ever growing army that's taken down and fed on several kingdoms worth of civilians and soldiers or would go down to a single swing of Arthas runeblade? That's game mechanics right there and I just felt like the battle needed a proper perspective and the old man deserved a better send off.

So, without any further waffling from me, WoWheezes chapter two, Touch Down.

~! #$%^&*()_+

Rhonin gazed down upon the tides of battle and snarled; frantically drawing runes in the air as he worked with three other mages to form a firestorm. Dalaran was under siege. Damn Jaina for running off with the kul tiras, the red-haired sorcerer snarled in his mind as his attack tore down a street, eliminating the latest charge of corpses through Antonidas anti-undeath auras. Damn Arthas, damn Lorderan and damn the lich king to the deepest most twisted depths of the nether.

Arthas had arrived at his city earlier that week with an army that dwarfed any Rhonin had ever seen during the first and second wars with the Hoard. Leading twenty million zombies, skeletons Frankenstinian horrors and animated stone gargoyles among other monstrosities Arthas had certainly cut no corners in this assault. The great arcane sanctum of the northern Azerothian continent held a population numbering nearly a million souls of whom Arthas intended to add to his infernal legions of the damned, but nearly half of those were sorcerers, many of whom had seen the fires and horror of battling the Hoard, an enemy of far greater skill and power. Rhonin swore they would not go down without a fight.

A flight of Gargoyles bore down on their position, sickly dark green fel energy gathering in their mouths. Arcane to light, fourth septum, thirteenth Arcanum, Franz Xizang's spell matrix 7, Transmute and fire! Jade lightning crashed down upon Rhonin and his three team mates only to be met by a dome of golden energy flecked with plum. "Return fire!"

The others wasted no time in doing so, striking back with streams of fire, shards of wickedly sharp magically enhanced ice and beams of force tearing into the demonic statues. Rhonin himself struck out with violently purple arcane lightning, arcing through five of the creatures and causing them to shatter into pebbles. The damn things would reform eventually, he had seen it, but for now that was six dozen less of the lich's forces to deal with.

Reaching out to the Keylines that fed Dalaran most of its magic Rhonin grimaced in disgust, they needed to end this battle quickly if they could; the magical reservoir of the great city was becoming tainted with a buildup of Demonic magic. They could deal with it, and even spend it as part of a vampiric spell form, but that it was built up that badly was dangerous news to begin with. Weaving another quick spell of arcane sight the maverick mage reviewed the disposition of forces within the great city.

Arthas and his scourge had arrived at the city a week ago and been met by their greatest arch-mage and defacto leader Antonidas. Arthas had demanded something of the great man and Antonidas had naturally refused. Rhonin hadn't been at the city at the time so he didn't know what had been said but one of the surviving soldiers had told him that their leader had taunted the death knight and a great bloody Lich floating beside him. Dalaran had been surrounded and outnumbered more than twenty to one with the corpses of their fallen countrymen and Antonidas had taunted him.

It wasn't as if the man hadn't had reason to be confident, Rhonin thought as he watched the sparkling plum aura tear apart another charge of skeletons, but to taunt him? Rhonin had fought dozens of battles against the orcs of the second war, torn dragons from the sky with a word and freed Alexstraza from the grip of Deathwing and the Orcs of the Dragonmaw, he knew well that taunting your enemy brought nothing but disaster. What had the arch-mage been thinking?

Regardless of what the old coot imagined he could do against the force that had done in a few months what thirty years of war with the Hoard had not, Antonidas had set up a fairly good plan. Calling on the services and minds of over a hundred arch-mages Antonidas had set up dozens of overlapping magical auras designed to dismantle the necromantic energies used by the scourge and set the shambling corpses alight so that they could not be used again and, for the most part, it was working. The auras slowed down and weakened the endless swarms so that the cities defenders and researchers could plow through them at speed, drawing the scourge/Dalaran war to a standstill with only minimal casualties on their side.

But not everything was going to plan.

While the cities defenders were tied up on a hundred or more fronts they were unable to help each other and Arthas and his death knights were steadily pushing into the city in spite of the auras. They were even killing several of the arch-mages maintaining the auras, their battalions of defenders be damned and there was nothing anyone could do about it. There were just too many undead everywhere else that mustering the necessary force to stop Arthas, his corrupted paladins and their Lich overlord would leave the rest of the city to be overrun. Rhonin cursed as another of the arch-mages holding Arthas at bay went down and within seconds another charge of ghouls came roaring up his boulevard.

"Haredal, Frostsprocket, Torres, we're dipping into curses, I want a wave of bone-breakers on my mark, let's show these cannibals what it means to meddle in the affairs of wizards!"

~! #$%^&*()_+

George Weasley looked dubiously at the small craft warp trader Ilos had presented him. "It looks like a coffin." He said bluntly and indeed it did… well, sort of. The craft consisted of 18 silver poles erected in the same configuration of the old west pine box coffins except that the sides were covered in pinkish force-field's and an assembly that looked like arm braces jutted out from the shoulder bars. All in all it was an interesting contraption and one that, anywhere else, George was certain would not have moved him anywhere, let alone protected him in such a hostile environment.

"My apologies for the lack of aesthetics apprentice trader master Weasley, but I assure you this is a safe and useful, if cheap, vessel. It seats four Ethereal passengers and one pilot under normal conditions and is used for scouting missions. It comes equipped with internal navigation sequences; ether ray sails and an emergency rift beacon in case the team runs afoul of void forces along with a frontal canon, though I doubt you'll need that. In the case of your personage though I am quite confident your corporeal form shall be capable of fitting, if a little uncomfortably, until you reach your destination."

George nodded absently it would have been interesting to have the time to see how this worked, but he had been told that the craft was going to be summoned back after it got near enough to the dark portal to safely jettison him. "And the destination has already been programmed?" he asked.

"Of course, apprentice trader. You have the agreed upon payment?"

George pulled several items out of his pocket. "Five wheezes communication mirrors and a memory crystal on their manufacture." He said nodding. "As well as my solemn vow to contact you first should I have any other business transactions with the Ethereal race."

"Quite good, quite good. Now, if you'll just lie down and place your arms by the slings we can conclude our business."

George did so, shivering as he passed through the magic rich static of the barrier fields and stretched his arms out under the shoulder bars to lay on the armatures. As he stilled the entire frame suddenly lifted and flipped over, fields hardening and gossamer wings of pink lightning folding sizzling out from a point near his back. "So, how do I fly this thing?"

"Ah, yes. Normally we simply direct the crafts with our minds but we've made a few modifications to this one for your corporeal form. The armatures, are your primary propulsion control, move them forward for speed and angle for which way you wish to move. And remember as with your trip here, if you wish any sort of gravity to assist your planar mindset just keep a clear image in your mind of which way is down. A targeting reticule has been programed for you to direct your approach to the planets coordinates within the void, so all you have to do is follow them and find a portal. Once you leave the craft or come in contact with a portal the ether-frame shall warp back here."

"And if I run into trouble?"

"If it is the legion? I recommend you remind them of the Xxir'aka Compact and inform them of your position as our client, if it's the void… retreat, and do so quickly, your mission be damned."

George nodded and put his arms forward like a fighter pilot.

~! #$^&*()_+

Ginny Potter looked down at her husband lying in his hospital bed and scowled. The mind healer had only just let her see him after his third examination and had come to the conclusion that he was in a self-induced coma due to the strong belief that he needed to be punished, something he apparently believed strong enough that his own magic was reacting to the idea and punishing him with a long string of memories revolving around everyone her husband had watched die and been unable to save, one after another in a constant loop.

It was infuriating.

He had her didn't he? And the kids? What more did he need to make him happy? George wasn't even dead, for Merlin's sake! She swore if he missed even one of her game because he was in this silly coma she was going to take the place of one of the mind healers and tear him a new one. It all came back to that silly hero complex of his… it had been romantic when she was younger and necessary during the war, but now? He had already given his life for the freedom of the wizarding world and been born again, just like the ancient sorcerer who'd been making a mess of the world when Merlin was a child, Jeezes of naz or something like that. But no, he'd had to dump her to go off hunting Voldemort's soul with her brother and his girlfriend, then get himself killed, and then quit a perfectly good job to save the world time and again in countries that had perfectly good heroes already waiting and wiling.

And now this.

"George called again" came Angelina's strong soft voice behind her. "He's just taken off, says he should be reaching this Azeroth by the end of the day. Then he'll find Sirius if he's still alive and see about buying a portal home."

"A portal?" Ginny asked, confused.

"Apparently the creatures he's met are capable of creating floo connections between planets that you simply step through. All they need is a pair of local foci and something to barter with." The dark woman explained. "What have the healers said on his condition?"

"Catatonic, nightmares, and it's all his own fault." She said nastily.

"Ginny, you know that's not fair." Angelina said, looking at her strangely. "I was almost as bad when Fred died and even closer when I thought George gone. I can't imagine how it's been for Harry to lose so many."

Ginny frowned. "I suppose. Still, I honestly think he just needs a good slap. My brother isn't even dead."

Angelina frowned at her friend and teammate again, deeper this time. "I don't suppose you've simply tried legillimancy on him?" she asked, somewhat colder than normal. "It's simpler than trying to get in on a mind healers spell without training."

Ginny shrugged. "How do you do it?"

"…H-how do you do it?" she spluttered. "You've lived with Harry for this long and… I'm just his friend and… Really!" Ginny watched startled as her friend pushed her off to the side so that she was standing beside the dark haired man in the bed and forced open his eyelids. Ginny watched as her friend began shuddering, slightly at first and then steadily more until Harry shot up in the bed, his eyes blazing and Angelina collapsed, tears of blood running down both cheeks.

"Angelina!" Harry and Ginny both shouted. Ginny looked on bewildered as Harry called for healers and began waving his hands and gesturing, muttering and literally glowing with power. "I'm so sorry, Angelia I've warned you about prying into my head before, It's become quite dangerous in there since Hermione taught me how to properly occlude myself." He muttered casting healing spell after healing spell.

"s'all righ…" Angelina slurred sleepily. "wasn yur faul." She muttered "Geore'snot dea. Ad to t-tell yu."

"Stay awake!" Harry snapped slapping her cheeks harshly before continuing his casting. "Stay awake, we're almost there. Don't want you to fall into my nightmares."

Then healers began pouring into the room, shoving Harry aside and asking rapid-fire questions of him, their wands out and casting quickly. Angelina was given a potion and another battery of spells before being declared fine.

"Mrs. Weasley, you really should be more careful. Venturing into the mind of a trauma victim is dangerous business without the proper training. It's incredibly easy to take on similar scars, ailments and curses of the mind." The healer explained.

Harry waited until they had returned home to begin asking questions. "So, George and Sirius didn't die passing through the veil?"

~! #$%^&*()_+

Antonidas gazed coldly upon Arthas as the self-styled 'death knight' stomped his way into the room. "So, boy, this is indeed what you have come for." The wizened master said coldly, his voice like the rasping of a quill on vellum. "The mad scribbling's of a heretic and a traitor."

"Give us the book, old man, and my master may yet let you live." Arthas returned, a psychotic leer on his face. The great mage however showed no sign of fear as he watched the hall fill with death knights and lich.

"Too much of a coward to face me alone, I see. Still the same spoilt little boy who ran about my knees, begging for a magic trick and throwing tantrums when the esteemed ambassadors of Dalaran did not respond like his court wizard."

"Enough of your prattle, old man, Death knights, kill him."

But it was not to be. As Arthas minions launched forth their shadowy bolts of necromantic energy the robed man unleashed a wave of power that blasted the entire host back against the walls. "It seems the time is fit for a lesson, boy, on respect for your elders." And with that, the battle was joined. The death knights charged, lich's cast and Antonidas danced. Twirling his staff like a dervish the withered old mage batted aside spells and answered them in kind, causing the floor to rise up and crush one sauronite clad former paladin in a great stone fist, launching a blast of flame at another causing his still living body to explode as the water within his body was flash boiled. One death knight tried to pin him down with a stream of artic wind, cold enough to form icicles on contact and shattering a stone pillar, but the leader of Dalaran teleported in a flash, replacing himself with the very warrior who had cast the spell before shattering the now frozen man with a bolt of violet energy.

The numerous lich began chanting, calling diseased mists to fill the room and spells to boil the blood of those still living but were caught by a firestorm halfway through their incantations. Skeletons fell left and right, charred and blackened; their bones already brittle from the icy cold of their undeath shattering upon the floor in response to the sudden temperature change and mishandling.

Arthas drew back, calling for more of his scourge to enter the hall and enter they did, swarming like locusts and trying to wear the old man down. Kel'thusald began rattling and chanting, casting spell after spell to enhance the undeath of the creatures, yet still Antonidas refused to slow. He stood now in the center of the great hall a vision of destruction, plum flame dancing around him as he sent out waves of ice and force, having settled on those as the most efficient method of dispatching Arthas minions as he waited for the former paladin commander to face him.

Antonidas answered the great lich with a blast of lightning which curled along his many chains, splintering bone and causing the blue light and frost emanating from them to dim and sputter as the creature pulled back to regenerate himself. Arthas circled the arena of battle face cold and dispassionate. The old man had to get tired some time, and then… he would strike. The lich king Ner'zul had demanded that book for whatever reason, and so his master would have it. It was the only way to quiet the incessant whispering. He watched intently with the mind of a battle field commander as the ancient sorcerer batted aside skeleton after ghoul, incinerating or freezing them until they shattered at the ever constant press of their brethren. There was a peculiar tint to the purple light that clung to the ancient wizards which contrasted to the wide area discharge of his excessive power use and it made the death knight curious and so he watched, wondering how such a tired old carcass could still cling to such vitality.

Then he saw it. The same exact shade of purple appeared around one of the few remaining death knights as he readied a deadly spell in one corner of the room to tear down their enemy. The man's movements had slown to a crawl as if he were moving through deep water or… or as if time was moving at a different pace around him! And Arthas understood. The old mage wasn't tiring from his powerful lighting quick blows or constant heavy casting, wasn't taking full seconds or even minutes to cast arcane retribution on his foes like the other had because he didn't have to. Antonidas was moving in a different time than everyone else around him! The secret to the man's apparent omniscience and power was his sorcerous ability to mess with the flow of time! It was a trick he'd see occasionally on the battlefield where the supporting sorcerers would slow down the movements of the Orcs to allow time for the human defenders to recover or slaughter a line of particularly hardy attackers.

And now it was being used to remove one of the biggest flaws of every battle mage in history, the time it took them to complete a useful casting.

Armed with this knowledge Arthas stalked over to the still healing Kel'thusald. "Lich, get up! I have need if you!"

"As the lich king commands, death knight Arthas." The lich rose, several of its bones still cracked from Antonidas attack, but healing visibly as he watched.

"Antonidas is using time as a weapon." Arthas spoke coldly. "Occupy his mind while I come in from behind."

Arthas stalked away as the greater Lich and one of the Lich kings first human lieutenants began channeling a massive blast if artic cold at his former superior. Antonidas met it with a blast of flame that swept the rest of the room, incinerating anything that wasn't close enough to the lich's attack and turning nearby stone to melted slag. As the attacks continued to war against each other Antonidas showed the first signs of weakness since the battle had begun, actually losing ground and having to pull in and concentrate his attack on the first ever successful human necromancer and former colleague and member of the leading council of Dalaran. Arthas walked up to his enemy, the clank of his armor silent against the roaring fury of the clashing spells and rammed Frostmorne straight through the old man's shield, ending the fight.

"A coward to the end." Antonidas wheezed coughing wetly and spitting blood upon the former paladin's face. "It pains me merely to look upon you Arthas."

"The allow me to end your torment old man." The white haired warrior growled, wrenching his sword still higher and thoroughly destroying his ribs and organs. "I told you your magic would not stop me!" he snarled as he watched the light leave the wizards eyes. When he was sure the old man was dead he withdrew the rune blade in a splash of gore. "The spell book is all yours, lich. Let's take it and leave before the wizards ready a proper attack."

"Indeed." The lich rasped, floating forward and pulling the thick leather bound tome from far deeper into the man's robes than he should have been able to reach. "I shall begin summoning Archimonde at dusk and then the conquest of this world shall begin in earnest."

~! #$%^&*()_+

George soared on violet wings of energy, plowing through the mists of the nether at speeds he usually associated with a portkey. Even so, it got boring quickly. According to the watch Harry had given him several years ago as a souvenir of one of his adventures; it had been nearly twelve hours by since he had taken off and he had fallen asleep twice in that time. Despite the lack of gravity in the void it was tiring to hold his arms extended as he had been for even an hour on end let alone having to do it for a dozen. He was ready to be rid of this ship, and thankfully his destination was at hand.

The ships intelligence had marked out the astral form of Azeroth on his forward facing forcefield and he was approaching the dark portal from the north pole down. He flew over the murky landscapes determined mostly by the disposition of key leylines of magical energy and the denizens that drew upon them, appearing as swirling eddies in the endless writhing sea of energy in which he floated. He was about half way down the second large continent when he saw a massive disturbance all focused in a single area. Instead of the occasional vortex of power here they lay hundreds of thousands of them, drawing heavily upon the power around him. A wizarding city perhaps? Now there was a fascinating idea. He'd have to remember this place as it seemed a good a point as any to start looking for his old idol.

Beginning to stretch his arms our once more Georges vision was rocked by an enormous disturbance ahead of him. The lights of the nether began to churn and boil like nothing he had seen within the possible mage city and a rip appeared in the insanity, showing first a pinpoint and then a full circle of ever growing light before him.

Somebody was opening a portal! Grinning at his good fortune and wary of Murphy's wrath, George angled towards the opening and shot forward. As he neared the portal the opening continued to grow and pulsing waves began coming off the edges of the opening, waves that called to him… or to something else…

George looked at the edges of the portal with the ships intelligence and scowled. It was being supported by massive quantities of fel magic. He remembered the summoners Harry had talked of all of those months ago and shuddered with the thought of what the pulses probably meant. Demons were coming, and from the look of the gateway, whoever was calling was going for a big one. Reaching down he grabbed his wand and prepared to launch. His search for Sirius would only be hindered by allowing a summoner to call forth his demons and according to Harry's stories you need a large number of mages absolutely dedicated to the portals creation to open one for small Cretan's to pass through, so whoever was on the other side was no doubt distracted to the man with a monstrosity like this.

Conjuring a shield George charged the gateway and ejected in a roll. Arcane power suffused his being as he tumbled through the last few feet of nether and burst out onto a hill above Dalaran and barreled into a mass of bones. There was a cry of rage and George looked back to see the gateway closing on the hand of an enormous grey creature with an enormous flat head and lots of tentacles. Raising his wand George shouted "_**fiendfyre!**_" at the arm as it reached through the plane of swirling jade. There was a roar as the spell ignited, consuming a surprisingly small amount of his power to form a massive snake of rotten yellow fire that surged forward, consuming the closest and greatest source of magic in the area, the demon.

George turned around as the arm was withdrawn into the swirling green darkness and a bolt of chilling energy crashed across his protego. "You fool!" an echoing voice howled, "Have you any idea what you have done?" another curse splattered against George's shields, draining significantly from the power he had absorbed passing through the nether. George turned around to see a floating pile of bones howling at him and did the first thing he could think of. "_**ossis durio!**_" he shouted, causing a large section of the creatures rib cage to shatter into splinters.

Getting a fair look around at the army of skeletons and other angry people literally carpeting the surrounding hill side Georges tired mind latched upon an idea. "Well ain't this a pickle." He said off hand and grinning. Then with a crack he disapperated.

~! #$%^&*()_+

Arthas stared at the remains of his only competent lich and swore loudly. A single spell… _a single spell!_ That was what they had been thwarted by! Well, perhaps not thwarted, Kel'thusald's soul was once more in the hands of their lord and could be easily raised again, but the creature had been the only one with the raw talent for magic among the scourge needed to summon the demon lord. Without him it would take them weeks during which his forces would need to be at a standstill in order to protect the casters as the gradually widened the opening into the nether to allow a steady stream of demons through.

Damn those wizards! Arthas deeply regretted now not spending time to add the more powerful ones they had encountered to the scourges ranks. It had been all they could do to carve their path to Antonidas and grab the book, any dawdling would have given the wretched arch mages time to reposition and only wasted troops which he had been hemorrhaging profusely during this campaign. As the whispers in his mind grew to a furious and frantic pace Arthas swore he would hunt down the red haired human and make him suffer as no other had since he tore apart the high elven ranger general Sylvannis Windrunner.

Turning to his troops he began howling orders, directing all magic capable personnel to gather and for the rest to begin setting up fortifications. It seemed as if they were going to be here for a while.

~! #$%^&*()_+

As the vomit yellow flames of the fiendfyre lapped their way across the body of Archimonde he defiler, battling the great demonic Eradar for control of his magic, a great and horrible scream arose from the distant lands of Taneris in southern Kalimdor. The great dragon Nozdormu writhed and howled in agony as the great root like streams of time began changing, the main artery of reality warping and twisting towards a new destination, taking all of its branched realities with it. All his carefully made plans for the future of the world were unraveling themselves and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

_How could this happen? _He seethed as the primary time stream unwound itself around him _it makes no sense! I am the timeless one; I exist in all points of time, past, present and future simultaneously! Nothing ever has or should have escaped my sight!_ Desperately fighting against the whispering voice in the back of his mind and the twisting, gut wrenching pain of the shifting time streams Nozdormu slowly pulled himself back together at a single point. He had to correct this, the fate of Azeroth hung in the balance, the hour of twilight! He could not let it happen!

It would take the great aspect many months to gather himself and begin to correct this egregious error, but it mattered not. The interloper _would_ **be** destroyed!

~! #$%^&*()_+

George reappeared, not a few hundred yards off as the commander of the scourge had expected, or even in the city of Dalaran, for he had no idea of the geography or distances involved in traveling on this planet, but nearly a mile into the sky. As he hung there, for the first few fraction of a second before gravity took over, the red-haired wizard pointed his wand at his calves and began muttering charms to prevent such a problem. "_**Arresto momento**_. _**Impedimenta**_. _**Penna levis**_. _**Flugo.**_" Slow fall, slow movement, feather light and flight, George thought. Should be plenty for now.

Hovering just below the clouds the fiery prankster and inventor surveyed the world around him. Directly below him, milling about and looking for all the world like a swarm of maggots over a charred rotting corpse lay the corrupted dead land of the undead camp he had just left. _Merlin's balls!_ He swore. A literal city of infiris! George could only boggle at the power it must have taken to create something like that, Voldemort himself had only been able to raise a few hundred at any given time and short of Harry and Dumbledore he had been the most powerful spell caster in Europe for centuries. To raise what looked like…_millions_ of them… what kind of wizards lived here, he wondered, a thrill of excitement, and not a little fear, shivering through his spine.

He wondered briefly if he should pop back down there and fire off another couple of fiendfyres. The spell literally fed on the magic of its victims and environment which was why it was so difficult to control or contain and honestly… how was destroying zombies not of the good? The only thing that held him back was the question of what would happen if he unleashed a vampyric spell like that on what was apparently such a magic rich environment. The use Gregory Goyle had made of it in the room or requirement had drained half of Hogwarts before the castle could muster the magical cold needed to quench the flames, how many might die if it were allowed to feed and burn freely with a nearby wizarding _city_ and such an obviously powerful dark lord right beside each other.

And better yet, why did he care?

Oh, right, he reminded himself, he was here to find Sirius and burning down a magical city would not only be a horrible tragedy but would be heavily counterproductive as well.

George pulled out his blood mirror and called for Angelina. He was deeply glad he'd managed to talk the warp trader down from the one irreplaceable mirror to five more common ones and a couple of memories. "George!" the last Weasley twin looked down at his mirror to see Harry's face reflected in it. "You're not Angelina." George said, grinning. "Nowhere near as pretty!"

Harry frowned across the mirror. "As happy as I'm sure you wife will be to know you're not a poofter, I was more excited with the confirmation that you're alive you great pratt!" Harry's face tiled around as if trying to look past George from the edges of a small window, which in essence he was. "I take by the call and sight of clouds you've reached Azeroth? What's it like?"

George thought for a moment. "Remember when we were over at Hermione's house and she showed us that yank cartoon, the animaniacs? It's been sort of like that so far, except when they smash you with the anvil you don't get back up."

"…wow." Harry said "That bad?"

"Magical overload, dark curses, haggling with ghosts, a twelve hour flight in a magical coffin and dealing with demon summoning dark lords who tote around entire muggle cities worth of infiris upon arrival. It's like I'm caught in a nightmare where I've become you and I can't wake up!" George teased.

"Hey! It can't be that bad, I mean, you're still making jokes! And besides, what's wrong with my life? Aside from brooding over the ones I couldn't save it can be a brilliant rush!"

"All of that aside, where's Angelina?" George asked pointedly.

"She's asleep, mate. It's like four in the morning here."

George scratched ha back of his neck and chuckled. "Looks like I pulled an all-nighter again and I'm running on fumes. Oh well. When she wakes up tell her I arrived… relatively safely and I'm headed towards a nearby wizarding city. She's free to call me any time."

"Wait, George." Harry said, hesitating. "I know you only just got there, but any news on Sirius?"

"Not yet, Harry. Only that the Ethereals picked him up eleven years ago and dropped him on the southern half of the continent. I'm going to be checking out the wizarding city first for a bit, see if he made it here, then head south and see if he survived somewhere else. Regardless of how this goes, Harry, you need to accept the possibility that he's already dead. I mean, it's been a decade and he still hasn't made it back. What's he been doing, is he alive, does he even remember who he is? He might have made a family for himself here for all we know. "

Harry got a stubborn look on his face. "Yes, well, burn that bridge when you get there George. Until then, I'm going to hold out hope. Sirius survived a decade in Azkaban and still came to save me when he saw Peter. I won't give up on him either."

There was a screeching noise and George looked up. "Got to go, mate! The natives are getting restless!"

George shoved the mirror in his pocket and apparated again. Converging on the place where he had just been were a dozen winged haggs. Or… at least they looked like haggs… "_**Faligo!**_" he shouted, slashing his wand through the air, drawing deep gashes in the creatures stone hides. Unfortunately this didn't cause them to drop, merely screaming at him and wheeling around again like a flock of territorial blue jays after a hawk. As he watched the same sickly dark green energy he had seen so often traveling the nether gathered in their mouths and lashed out at him. He teleported again, this time firing off blasting curses from behind the flock. He hit about half of them, the winged stone golems falling from the sky in a shower of stone bits and pieces, but as he watched, the creatures were already reforming as they made their way to earth. The rest of the flight turned towards him and he cast another dozen blasting curses before apparating again, this time a dozen miles in the direction of the city he had been watching while he talked to Harry.

George appeared above one of the many towers and minarets that covered the city and floated down to a soft landing on a balcony. Canceling he spells he had used to keep him aloft George searched around for a better item to attach more permanent versions of the flight charm on. A quick search of the tower revealed little of use. Ornamental staves, well stuffed arm chairs and sofas and literally mountains of thick leather bound books. It was obviously the study of a wizard of Hermione's type and caliber considering how literally every surface was covered in book either stacked or open and surrounded by notes on one thing or another. There were a few brooms in the nearby area, but each of them was already heavily enchanted with instructions and personality making them next to useless for what he intended to do.

Then George's eyes fell on the thick rug he was standing on. It was one of several in the room and embroidered with a large number of intricate patterns, but upon examination it only held a self-cleaning charm. He could work with his. Stripping the enchantment he began muttering quickly, applying several of the many dozens of charms he and his father had found when stripping down the old ford Anglia and other more recent racing brooms. Flight, breaking, stability, anti-unseating, self-cleaning, self-repairing, hex and jinx protections, the extended feather light charm and several others including a priority pilot enchantment in case he took on passengers and sticking charms for carrying luggage. When he was done he poured the rest of the magic bloating his core into the rug, causing the thing to glow brightly around him.

As the light of George's enchantments sank into the carpet he heard a hissing sound and watched with interest as lines of golden, blockish runes began forming circles in the air around him. Within seconds he circles completed themselves and the space behind them disappeared revealing wizards from various parts of the city, their hands aglow with power and all staring straight at him.

All of them looked at him confused before one of them, a tall pale man with handsome features and ling pointed ears spoke. "It's only a human." He said to the rest, causing several of what George thought might be dwarves and house-elves to lower their hands, the spells in them fading.

Then one of the other, human, mages stepped forward. "Mage, what are you doing up here? Shouldn't you be down below assisting in the relief effort?"

"Yeah, funny thing about that." George replied, floating up on his carpet so he was eye level with the man he was speaking to. "did you guys know that you had a demon summoning dark lord and an army of infiris about twenty miles that way?" the red haired wizard said pointing out the window of the tower.

There was silence. "Shit!" swore one of the taller magic users, this one with much shorter, yet still pointed ears. "They're summoning demons now?"

One of the shorter creatures snorted. "And why wouldn't they?" it said in a deep gruff voice. "For all that Arthas killed Antonidas the full might of the scourge wasn't enough to take the city. We were only a million strong last week when they arrived and they've lost far more than that while our casualties are in the mere thousands. Most of them soldiers and civilians, of course that maniac would go looking for something better to attack us with!"

"That's hardly the point!" shouted another of the human mages around him "The Council of Six needs to know about this! Dalaran was warned years ago that Arthas would summon forth the legion and we dismissed those claims! We need to follow Jaina Proudmore like the prophet said!"

"And what?" said another of the pointy eared casters, "Abandon Dalaran? Not on your life, Hagan! If Arthas really is summoning demons, it's our duty as part of the alliance to stop him!"

"You just don't want to leave your comfortable office and precious research behind!" cried one of the house-elf like creatures. "How do you even stop a demon? Once they're enough of a problem to send an army after you can't just kill the summoners, the portals are already stable!"

"Um, if I could speak?" Everybody turned towards George. "This is a city full of wizards' right?"

"Wizards, Mages, Arcanists, thaumaturgists" countered a tall platinum blond with the long ears and ornate wide shouldered red robes "take your pick, just kill he warlocks and necromancers on sight and for the love of magic don't mention the technomancers or paladins, they don't deserve the validation."

"Right…" George drawled, mentally making a note to check out these technomancers for his father "point is, if you can't leave your city behind and you need to leave to help this alliance, why not just move the city?" George suggested simply. "There's a fair number of relocation spells in the libraries at home, shouldn't there be some here as well?"

"Relocation spells?" said a human with red hair and a squashed nose. "You mean like a mass teleport or a mobile dimensional rift?"

George looked at him strangely. "Or you could just pick it up and enchant the thing to fly." He said moving he carpet up and down to demonstrate. "I mean, something this big, it'd take a few hundred mages here at all times to keep her in the air, but considering your argument's that you don't want to leave your homes and workshops, it shouldn't be a problem." The mages around him began looking at him pensively, several of them muttering and waving their hands around, making the carpet George was sitting on glow uncomfortably.

"Fascinating, fascinating. I can see what you mean" said another; an older woman this time, her auburn hair streaked with silver. "I think I could reverse engineer this. With enough mages… yes…" The group around him began stepping back through their portals or conjuring new ones until only one was left there with him.

No longer having to look around to keep up with all of the different speakers who had descended on him George took some time to examine this last one. It was a girl, maybe sixteen or seventeen with blood red hair and short pointed ears. The hair was cropped short into a bob, short in the back and coming down to just beneath her chin in the front, though the right side was tucked behind one of the pointed ears. The woman's eyes were a brilliant emerald green that reminded him strongly of Harry's and there was a soft bluish glow to the sclera as if they were lit from within, something that he'd only seen happen to his more powerful friends when they were angry or excited. Her cloths were ornate, with pauldrons covered in silver filigree and small gemstones, long sleeved gloves the color of chilled wine and a long sleeveless, backless dress that, while it covered everything, it clung tightly enough to all of her curves that it left absolutely nothing to the imagination. The skirt held a slit up the front of the dress going to what George assumed was mid to upper thigh but it was mostly covered by a strip of cloth dangling from a belt which was also covered in delicate filigree though it possessed only a single large red gem that acted as a belt buckle cover. The entire ensemble was cut from an odd shimmery material also of the same chilled wine color as the gloves.

"As much as I absolutely _love_ being ogled by middle-aged human hedge-wizards" the girl spoke finally having apparently grown tired of his observation "would you care to explain why you're in my home stealing my rug?"

George shrugged. "Chased a friends godfather through the twisting nether, made deals with ghosts, interrupted a demon summoning, you know, usual day at the office. Now I need a ride, your rug just happened to be convenient. Biscuit?" he finished, offering her a cookie from a tin.

"Right… " she said taking one of the cookies and nibbling on it. George grinned as her hair, eyebrows and lashes turned as green as her eyes. "So… are you human?"

"Are you an elf?" he returned with a cheeky grin.

"No, really? What gave it away, the ears?" she asked rolling her eyes as she began to examine the carpet he was still riding.

"Yeah, I'm a human, just not one from this planet." At this the sorceress looked up.

"Planet?"

"Well, yeah. For every star you seen in maybe one four has planets around it. Of those maybe one in twenty has life and according to the Ethereal's I bartered passage from, Humanity's a pretty popular race. Seems like our ancestors got around."

"Or, more likely, your creators." The former redhead countered.

"Say again?" George asked quizzically.

"Old ruins and records on this planet talk of Titans, god like beings who move from star to star building life. It's largely dismissed as standard creation mythos, but the bronzebeard dwarves were pretty serious about it before Medihv opened the dark portal."

"Huh. I'll have to tell Hermione about that, I've no doubt she'd be fascinated." George replied, thinking of his bookish research partner. "On our world though the Titans were the parents of the gods who created us and were considered little better than the dread old ones they drove off the planet."

The elf girl tilted her head to the side, cocked a hip and held out her hand to shake. "Perhaps we can get this right this time; I'm Andrea Solus, Half Elf and Astromancer of the Kirin Tor. I study the heavens and their relation to magic as it's performed here on Azeroth, though if we're really in trouble I can be called upon to summon an asteroid from one of Elune's rings to clear a battle field. I'm not sure what the council was thinking, but it seemed like it would have been a good time to call down a few starfalls this week."

George nodded. "George Weasley, Human Wizard of Great Britain and proprietor and creative genius behind Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes Ltd. I helped out in a civil war once and can cast a mean fiendfyre, but mostly I make stuff."

"What kind of… 'stuff'?" Andrea asked, eyes alight with curiosity.

"Look in a mirror." George said grinning.

The half-elf did and stood here for a few seconds looking at her newly emerald tresses. She didn't say a word, but rather made a gesture which caused a small ball of fire to fly out and chase the ginger around the room, laughing like a goblin. _Yeah,_ he thought_ I'm going to be just fine here._

~! #$%^&*()_+

Drenden looked up from his examination of their former comrade's remains and caught the tail end of Krasus transformation from dragon to… something humanoid. He'd never quite been sure what the great red dragon turned into, but when he squinted it looked vaguely like an emaciated high elf. "And so the six become five." The ancient sorcerer rasped gravely. "What happened here?"

"The scourge, Korilastraz. What else is happening in Lorderan these days?" Arch-made Drenden replied with a scoff.

"Something far more dire than a simple zombie apocalypse I fear." The millennia old reptile replied. "I was tending to my lady's health when I received a desperate communiqué from Nozdormu."

"The aspect of time? He's never been fond of humans, much less Dalaran. What could he have said to put you in a panic when our own plight did not?"

Krasus looked at his fellow ruler sharply "Do not mistake my dedication to the resurrection of my flight as lack of compassion, arch-mage." The dragon sorcerer deflected angrily. "Of all dragons operating in your world I have always placed by far the greatest care into the lesser races."

"Regardless the veracity of your platitudes, Krasus, we have been under siege for over a week, and spent quite a bit of effort calling all of our brothers and sisters to the defense of this city. Duties to your wife aside even you must have noticed! Antonidas is dead, as are thousands of others and the shadow hold has been breached! Those necromancers are running around with the book of Medievh! They've already tried to open a portal for the legion! And they were nearly successful too! The mage who stopped them managed to injure both Kel'thusald and Archimonde if you can believe it! We could have greatly benefited from your expertise here and you know it!"

This got the elder mages attention. He stood up from the ground where he had been examining the gaping wound carved into his friend and student of three centuries. "He injured Archimonde? You're sure of it?"

"His descriptions were vague, and he knew not whom he attacked, but our scryers confirmed it." Drenden replied with a nod. "The man in question barreled out of Kel'thusald's portal as if the hounds of the legion itself were after him and let fly a magical fire. An enormous grey Eradar was reaching through the tear from the other side and fell back when the fire attacked him. We don't know if it killed the beast or gave him a rash, but either way he just saved Azeroth. For the time being at least…"

Krasus looked around the chamber bewildered. Blackened outlines of hundreds of ghouls and lich painted the walls in a macabre shadow dance and much of the stone was little more than cooled lava with bits of armor sticking up in lumps around it. Antonidas, a former member of the six ruling mages of the Kingdom of Dalaran, lay at the center of the tableau and he saw none of it. Nozdormu had warned him of a traveler from nowhere whose presence was destroying time itself, but the only one who fit such a vague description had just done the only thing that could possibly give the world hope! What was going on here? Had the aspect meant for everyone here to die? How could the legions intrusion into this world when the lesser races were at such a precarious state be a good thing? Be anywhere in line with what the great golden aspect had been charged with by the Titans who had uplifted them to guard this world?

"Has… has this mage done… anything else of… of note?" Krasus asked, his thoughts whirling in circles.

"More than you can imagine" came a third voice, causing the other two to turn toward the handsome form of Kael'thas Sunstrider "and less than you'd expect."

"How _very_ enlightening of you, Prince Sunstrider…" Drenden drawled. "I'd hoped you'd save this till we could assemble the rest of the council."

"Oh, dear me, you know there's little need of that." Kael said, waving one hand negligently his ridiculously ornate red robes billowing as he joined them. "Ansirem Runeweaver took Arthas blade to the head, proving not only his thick skull, but the power of his craft by surviving long enough to get to an infirmary and as great a leader as the lady Modera is you know she's never been one to sit around while there's something that needs doing. Besides, she was with me when we confronted the stranger in Andrea Solus chambers!"

"You sound far too pleased about this entire situation, Prince Kael." Drenden returned.

"Of course, it's either that or go insaine and I'm always please to find more proof that Arthas is a damned soul who is fully worth of a _long_ and drawn out execution!" The powerful elven sorcerer replied coming to a stop before the pair of them.

"You're still stung over Antonidas apprentice leaving you for Arthas? It was nearly a decade ago!"

"She was the only human I've ever loved, Drenden, try it some time. A woman would do you good."

"You elves… She was sixteen, man. Have you no sense of propriety? You were on this council when her grandfather was born!"

The pair were about to continue their argument when the dragon mage swiped his hand through the air angrily, leaving a trail of lighting in the wake of the movement. "May we get back to the topic at hand? Kael, you had come to discuss something do to with the traveler."

"Ah, yes. We confronted the man in Andrea Solus' tower enchanting a carpet to fly."

"A carpet?" Krasus asked incredulous. "To what purpose?"

"He intended to use it as a mount in place of a griffon or dragon-hawk." Kael replied with a smirk. "Quite the ingenious bit of spell work too. He suggested we modify it to set Dalaran in the air and out of danger. It's a good plan and Modera is gathering mages to enact it right now."

The human and dragon looked at each other. "I've seen sorcerers make castles float in ages long past" Krasus said finally "but a city? Where would you get that kind of power?"

"Through delicate and ingenious spell casting." Drenden replied giving the dragon a look as if it should have been obvious. Ignoring a stare from said compatriot he turned back to the elf lord. "You said you and lady Modera got a good look at this rug. Can the enchantments be modified for an entire city and still work?"

The blond nodded, raising his arms and muttering, causing the air between them to light with lines and symbols written in multiple colors of fire. The latticework of the spell was intricate and showed patterns of numerous enchantments weaving through and supporting the others. "This was the entire spell matrix." Kael explained, allowing the others a good look at it. "Try to look at any individual enchantment and it all looks like a big mess, but taken as a whole you can see how each spell branches off into the others, feeding on and supporting them." Kael muttered some more and made several strange gestures causing the web of represented enchantments to fall apart into thirteen individual pieces. "These are the spells he used." The elven prince continued as his audience of two leaned in to examine each of the spell matrices individually. "As you can see, there are only three spells that really matter. Flight, breaking and weight reduction. If you look at the last two you'll notice how they look quite similar to the non-temporal slow spell and the slow-fall charms only a lot more intricate. Gentlemen, I do believe this could work."

"Fascinating," Drenden replied "look at this, the thaumaturgy for the flight spell is similar to the enchantments on the crystal cores for the arcane guardians in Silvermoon. Remember how they always seem to just float around?" he said tracing several of the matrices lines. "the power conversion lines are a lot clearer though and he's replaced the arcane intelligence with a pilot program. Directional runework is odd though, it allows for incredible speed, but it's as if he only intended it to move on one direction and be steered from there."

"That's not all that unusual" Krasus said, quietly. "Most spell work is inspired by something in the natural world, most if not all creatures that experience the joy of flight 'move forward and steer from there' as you say. Simply orient the spell to the main gates and make it a recursive enchantment, if it's constantly trying to complete itself you can still modify it to work better without needing to land and remove the entire thing." The dragon waved a hand behind himself and summoned a chair to sit in. Leaning back he looked at his fellow leaders of the world's magic users. "The question that I feel remains unanswered however is both why we would want to enchant the city in this manner and why we have not apprehended the sorcerer who created this. You did say he came out of a portal our old colleague made to the twisting nether. That's not only legion territory but our man was in need of _fleeing_ from them. How do we know it's not more dangerous to allow him to wander free than to have demons running around? The mysterious Lord Prestor of Alterac, who so damaged our relation with the rest of the northern kingdoms, was in fact deathwing in the end, after all."

Drenden grunted and massaged his left arm. "Yes," he growled, obviously remembering the dragon aspect of Earth's traps he had fought his way through several years prior "don't remind me."

"In answer to your question, elder dragon," Arch-mage Sunstrider replied "we're not letting him, ah, run around free, as you say. I placed a monitoring charm on him before leaving him under the auspices of one of my acolytes. Astromancer Solus owes me a great deal and was quite willing to lend her services when I suggested it. Not only because she's half-elf and I am her savior, benefactor and prince, but because it was her tower he invaded. She will report on him regularly and from experience I'm sure she'll be quite thorough. As to why Lady Modera and I have chosen to go along with his suggestion is because we _are_ needed out there among the alliance. One of the primary reasons we are not is the defense of our homes and covetousness of our research. Doing this we can satisfy both sides and offer forth a significantly greater level of support." He paused before becoming significantly more serious than before. "Especially to Quel'thalas."

The human and dragon nodded slowly. Prince Kael had been visiting the city when the attack came in an effort to gain support in reclaiming his own homeland from the Scourge that infested it after Arthas attack on the sunwell. Anything that would further that goal was something the elf would sink to any depth to accomplish. "Alright. I'll organize efforts to expand the city to accommodate any survivors we pick up and clean any food we can gather from the towns we pass over, but Kael," he said, looking at the pale blond, his expression stony and forceful, "we'll be saving any humans and their supplies we find along the way. I agree with you that Quel'thalas both needs and deserves our support, but I **will not** allow my people to suffer in favor of yours, as you would do the same. Dalaran has always maintained its neutrality and this _will _be no different. Equal partners, take it or leave it."

The human and elf stared each other down for several minutes before nodding and clasping forearms in unison. "What of you, Krasus? Going to stick to your caves or can we count on the mutual support of the red dragons?"

"I shall speak with my lady Alexstraza on the matter." Krasus allowed. The other two nodded and left, it was more than they had expected and they had work to do...


	3. A Single Pebble

World of Wheezes part three: a single pebble.

~! #$%^&*()_+

Ridiculously long AN/review answering session.

I found myself being asked some rather interesting relationship question of recent and found myself flatfooted so I thought I'd give a little reveal before continuing. Hope it doesn't ruin too much.  
1: the Tonks Cameo last chapter is not Nymphadora, as much as I love the character in so many ways, the dumb bint got herself dead as a doornail at the end of book 7. She will not reappear here.  
2: As much as I don't agree with HP/GW Harry is too devoted to the idea of family and especially his children to leave Ginny without something BIG and Ginny is far to married to her fantasy idea of being married to 'the-boy-who-lived' to simply leave or let him go. That's not to say things story worthy won't happen, just not like most of my callers are likely expecting.  
3: George might get WC romances, but regardless of do or do not, he's not going to abandon or blow up with Angelina who I have planned to follow him to WoW. Any closing on their part would be mutual and… relatively cordial. Given canon information (which is what I'm basing most of my assumptions on) Angelina was Fred's girl and George's friend. They got together on the mutual support and comfort vibe of having their loves/=(Brother+/close friend) die in the Book seven battle.

~! #$%^&*()_+

George moved through Dalaran giddily. A Wizarding _City_! Coming from a world where wizards had become hunted into a state of hiding, being able to walk around in public and not have to think of creative ways to hide his magic from normal people was an interesting feeling. There was literally magic around every corner here. It was in the chairs, animated the brooms, and blossomed from nearly ever plant he'd spent the time to examine. There were enchanted drinks and foodstuffs here that had nothing to do with utility or pranking, but rather were simply _because_! As he was quickly learning from talking to the busy mages and his ever present shadow, Andrea, people here didn't ask why when performing a spell or inventing something new, they asked why not! He felt like a lot of the children he'd accidentally legillimenced upon their first time entering his joke shop.

That wasn't to say everything was wonderful of course, the city had just been through a war and it showed. Rubble and bones lined the streets, here and there you could see damaged buildings where some spell had missed its target or a gargoyle had smashed headlong into a wall after being shot down by the desperate mages as they defended their home with a vigor he'd only ever seen in his brief brushes with Harry's mind.

And that was another thing… Everyone here used magic, but few, so very few used wands! Or any other sort of focus either! George knew a fair number of spells well enough to cast them with just a thought and a wave of his hand, but these 'mages' did _everything_ that way! It completely boggled the mind. The odd thing was that they had wands… or at least something like them, but while they were used on occasion as a magical focus, they weren't integral to any sort of casting, and often as not did little more that direct a spell the mage has already cast within his mind or issued simple bolts of power in a given direction. The level of focus and dedication it must take to do something like that… a _lot _more people in his world would have been squibs if this was how you had to do things. Hell, come to think of it, a lot of people in this world probably were too! Possessing of magic, but lacking the raw power or discipline to join the half million magic users he'd been told made only a bare fifth of the world's active practitioners.

George briefly let loose the grin of a malicious prankster as he considered the ramification of releasing proper wand lore into this world. A single act that would completely alter the course of history. He cackled like a runaway goblin, drawing worried looks from those around him and a glare from Astromancer Solus.

Waving his wand George let off a silent repairo, quickly healing a large crack in a nearby wall. When he had first started doing this his watcher had looked at him in wonder and immediately begun interrogating him on the details of the specific spell matrix he'd used to perform such freeform repairs without apparent effort. The conversation had been an interesting one.

~! #$%^&*()_+

"_You can't be serious, George! Magic is complicated, there are hundreds of variables to consider, you can't simply wave that stick and make it happen!"_

_George looked at her and smirked, driving pleased to see I drive the poor girls blood pressure up even further. "And why ever not?" he asked flippantly, waving his wand again and causing a wall to turn stopsign red instead of the light violet of the magically masoned stone. "Magic is as much intent as it is arithmancy, that's actually how we find our new students on my world; by looking for those who manifest magic without formal training." The redhead explained as he transformed a chunk of stone into a yellow rose and handed it to her. _

_Andrea looked at the flower and took it slowly "But that doesn't make any sense. The sheer amount of power and control required to reshape mater like this is immense, requiring hundreds of calculations that have to be modified on the fly for different variables. You can't just wing it, you can't just wish it to happen."_

"_So you're saying that if I waved my wad at you right now and tried to turn you into a kitty cat I wouldn't work because I'd need to know too many variables to easily calculate?"_

_To Georges surprise Astromancer Solus snorted. "To perform a polymorph? Hardly… polymorphs don't actually change anything, they're just an illusion. One powerful enough to warp reality temporarily, sure, but the spell fails as soon as it's either challenged or the power runs out."_

"_**Ktlipsyxm**__." George mutered brandish his wand at the girl. Immediately her skin and hair began flowing under the currents of his spell. Her skin turned soft and light and dark short ginger fur quickly replaced it. Her nose flattened slightly and her upper lip folded in to make the trademark cat face. Her eyes also expanded slightly in her skull and the pupils became rounded slits bisecting jewel bright iris's. Ears migrated towards the top of her head and became triangular as claws, fangs and a tail appeared. Deciding the transformation had gone far enough to make his point George cut off the spell. _

"_C-c-c-r-r-ute, Geor-r-r-rge…" she slurred through her new mouth, and slapped herself. "That's not fu…" Andrea froze as George placed a hand to her ear and began scratching. After a couple of seconds the frozen sorceress began purring before going rigid again. She hadn't changed back!_

~! #$%^&*()_+

Then she'd attacked him, demanding he change her back in-between question on how he'd created a permanent polymorph spell.

Now she just followed him around, writing in her journal as he transformed piles of log dead corpses into pigs, sheep, cows, and the occasional flock of chickens.

"You don't expect anyone to eat those do you?" she asked after the hoard started to clog the streets, much to the bemusement of her fellow mages, who simply apparated around it, with a queer glance backwards.

"What?" he asked, transforming his ears, hair and eyes to match hers like a brother. "Don't like chicken?" he finished, picking up one of the birds by the wings and shaking it at her. The recently created bird squawked and struggled, its fear and confusion temporarily overriding Georges compulsion to follow them quietly.

"As different and hard to break as your wand based polymorph is, that still used to be a four year old child and a zombie not more than a few days ago. It'll taste like grave dirt and is probably infections!" she sneered.

George shrugged and dropped the bird on a pig before turning his wand on it. "**Levicorpus. Diffindo. Animus.**" He said, waving his wand in small intricate patterns. The Bird lifted off the pig to hover in front of him and squawked indignantly before losing its head in a splash of blood. Andrea shuddered as some of the fresh looking red blood got on her robes. Grabbing it, without taking her eyes off of him George saw the girl sniff it experimentally as he continued to work. The animation spell, animus, was an intent driven spell that built itself as much by the imagination of the caster as it did from the arithmancy that created the wand movements for it. As such it require constant attention to work, though not nearly as clear an idea of large a burst of power as other more permanent animations did.

Under George's direction the bird stripped itself of its skin and feathers, moving as if it was a showgirl on a catwalk, hips sashaying back and forth, wings rubbing against either side of its 'breasts' and along its side. Andrea watched the chicken carcass roll the skin off its thigh like a garter and snorted. She finally burst out laughing as she watched the now skinless chicken carcass slowly ease its way into the boiling water, acting like a delicate lady stepping into her bathtub. It was positively perverse to watch the poultry tear off its skin as a stripper would their slinky black dress. By the time it was done Andrea was blushing bright red and had a hand in front of her mouth. "You got any garlic or pepper?"

"You're such a pervert." She managed, sounding as if she was trying to hold back giggles.

"Well I don' know about you," he said conjuring a globe of water and summoning come garlic, salt and pepper from a nearby shop, "but I like my breasts well done." The chicken moved like it was walking down a set of steps into the pool of water and used the wings to massage the salt, pepper and garlic George was crushing into the powder and adding to the water which had started to boil. By now they had a fairly large crowd pointing at them and asking others what was going on. As the fat began seeping out into the water and turning the globe of boiling chicken stock yellow George moved the bird to the top of the globe so it could still be seen moving like it was a masseuse at a spa. Salt and pepper hovered over the pot, gently seasoning the broth. The chicken seemed to enjoy the attention, rubbing the spices into its flesh.

After several minutes of cooking George directed the thoroughly twice dead meat as it tapped its right wing approximately where its wrist should have been, indicating that dinner was ready. "Wing, my dear?" when she snorted and shook her head George shrugged and took the offered limb from the bird, who bowed with its remaining limb and dove back into the center of the bubble where it simply hovered, cooking. George bit into the wing and turned his head to the side considering. "Eh…"

"What? Does it taste like marinated grave dirt? Feeling woozy?"

"Nah," George said, waving her off "I think I overcooked it."

~! #$%^&*()_+

"So, have you figured out his abilities yet?"

Andrea bowed her head, cheeks flushing lightly. "No, Prince Kael." The crimson haired half elf replied, sounding dejected. "Every time I think I have his core study nailed down he pulls out another bag of tricks. I will try harder, milord, don't worry."

"Hmm…" Kael'thas Sunstrider looked down at the young elven girl, face pensive, arms behind his back. "Don't trouble yourself too deeply, child. It's only been two days. Did he not tell you he was an artificer?"

"He did, sire. It was in my report. He's also here looking for something, or someone, I'm not entire sure. He keeps calling it padfoot." She looked up into his blue eyes hesitantly. "If I may, sir, his professed study of enchanting artifacts may yet be the source of his many talents… there are parallels that can be drawn…"

"Explain." He said, calmly. This human was a mystery and an altogether interesting one. His confirmed victory over the scourge and legion had gained him the attention of his most useful ally on the council of six and his casual skill in artifice had further pushed the woman and his primary opponent to agree to official aid. Human, demon or something else entirely, the boy bore watching if only for the opportunities his presence seemed to offer.

And then there was that wand… the high elf lord shuddered at the thought of such power. Wands here were practically useless, mere channels though which you could easily focus a spell or specific energy into a tighter, more cohesive form, but his wand… there seemed to be no limit to the things it could do with little more than a wave. With the loss of the sunwell, to the very bastard the boy had destroyed, the high elves were suffering. In Quel'thalas magic had been in everything, it was life to them, even for those with no skill or training in the art. They had lived with a glut of it since their race had first crawled out of their caves and reached out in wonder at the stars. A five thousand year empire beneath the stars on the shores of a lake of liquid power and then ten more in the sun. Magic was in the water they drank, the food they ate; it had sung through the very air they breathed for longer than history remained written, and now to be without it…

It was killing them, Kael knew, and slowly, just like the scourge. They needed a new source and bringing the rest of the elves into the mage city was a start; the boy's interference had allowed that and his easy use of enchantment offered more. They just needed to figure out how.

"I've been studying him as you asked, Prince Sunstrider, and as I've been able to see there are very few constants to his spell library. When I was studying enchanting a few decades ago, before the first war I noticed that for everything I wanted to create I often had to reference a new section of the library. Enchanting is often referenced as one of the most difficult and involved disciplines because of this, my rug for instance. The flight charm crosses geomancy and aetheromancy, using earth as a focus to reduce weight and wind to move him around and yet, the spell is neither. The self-cleaning and repairing charms he used are both clearly arcane as is the stopping mechanism and there's this spellform he placed into the weave to allow for multiple people supplying lift power while only allowing for one pilot that is highly reminiscent of a study I did in my academy days on arcane intelligences, but it's not, it's neither intelligent nor independent. I just don't understand sir; the best I can offer so far is that he's a general practitioner with an arch-mages experience."

"Calm yourself, child" the platinum blond said, putting a placating finger on her lips. "It may not be as complicated as you think. When we caught him stealing from you I noticed that he was not connected to the arcane flows of the world, I thought little of I at the time, but his magic may simply be different than ours because all of his mastery is internal, relying on his own power rather than using it to direct greater fonts of energy. It would lend itself to more intent based spell forms than our grand matrices required to constrict magic to our purposes. Now, what can you tell me about his wand?" at the last word there was a flicker of madness and greed in his eyes, but it was gone as soon as it had appeared.

"It's made of dogwood, sir" Andrea replied instantly, having expected the question as it was one she had asked herself many times over the last two days. "Very high quality, the grains are well aligned and as far as I was able to tell, channel magic easily. Whoever made it was just as meticulous in his selection as the arch-mages I've known to use them."

Kael'thas frowned. "Anything else? Any special runes or carvings placed into it? Special materials? An odd varnish perhaps?"

"Well…" Andrea looked hesitant for a moment, as if debating whether or not to say a thing,

"Don't hold back, dear child. I would not be your patron if I did not hold some value in your council." Kael said, slightly sharper than he usually spoke when he talked with her, causing the half-elf to flinch.

"He won't let me hold it, but when I use my mage sight on it, I get hints of gold and silver beneath the wood, sir. Not much, but it's there, possibly gold and silver leaf, or runes printed on the inside. There's also a hint of some other power whenever he casts… I don't know but…" she looked at him almost pleadingly. "It feels similar to the time you introduced me to your college Krasus. It wasn't the councilor's magic, and it didn't come from George, but I'm sure it was similar somehow." Andrea sagged in relief as a smile blossomed on his face. So that's what it was then… this human, this interloper had the help of a dragon… but he still needed details. Why was there a dragons magic linked to the wand? How deep did the link go? Was it simply enchanted by one of the great wyrms, or did it have some deeper connection… and how could he reproduce it? Then there was the question of the gold and silver. Gold was often used in sorcery because it allowed magic to travel easily across its surface and silver because it held magic well, that had been the reason the metals were named precious to begin with, though few remembered that little fact.

Still, time would tell, and when it did, he would be there to receive it.

~! #$%^&*()_+

George watched with interest as the Arch-mage Modera directed the efforts of hundreds of mages in the creation of a massive circle around the city. He hadn't realized it when he met her in the tower just days before that she was such an important person in this world, she certainly hadn't looked it. She had a kind grandmotherly face, blue eyes and auburn hair streaked with thick patches of silver, almost like the highlights he'd seen muggle girls putting in their hair in London, except for the random nature of the hairs. Walking close to the circle they were making, George noticed a small wash of static and lack of wind signifying a weather spell. At first he wondered why they had placed it, but when he got closer he noticed that the lines they were drawing were made of dust of some sort. Frowning he crouched down by one of the nodes a nearby mage was carefully pouring down. Taking a pinch of the dust he rubbed it between his fingers and looked at it closely. It glittered and sparkled, feeling hard and wickedly sharp between his fingers. It reminded him of crushed glass actually, or… no… no, they couldn't have!

"Mage!" he barked. "What's your name?"

"Jenkins, mate, who are you?" the man returned grumpily, not even looking up from his task or pattern map.

"The man who created this array, are you using crushed gemstones for this?"

The man looked up now, giving him a strange look. "Well, yes, sir. It's fairly common procedure to draw spell circles in crystal dust and your spell calls for it. Arch-Mage Modera of The Six made the modifications if there's something you're worried about. I wouldn't though; the thaumaturgy looks solid to me…" George nodded his head and walked off. Crystal dust, crushed gemstones… these people had enough precious gems to waste casually! It completely boggled the mind. And thaumaturgy? He honestly wasn't going to knock anything these people did, he couldn't deny the power of their spells and casters, but thaumaturgy was only used with old ritual magic. Though admittedly they seemed to be turning the old flight spell he'd ripped off of Harry's ancient Firebolt into a channeling ritual if anything he'd recognized meant squat. Still, crushed gemstone!

"Arch-mage Modera?" George asked, coming up to the woman.

"AH! The interloper! Fascinating spell you gave us, do you like my work? It's not as clean as I could have hoped, but given the short timeframe our scryers offered us until the scourge reopens the portal I didn't have time to clean out all of your errors." George stared into her smiling face, incredulous.

"My errors?!" he spluttered. "The Romanian wizard who calculated the arithamancy for this spell retired a rich man! His work is still acclaimed even a decade later! Zero to three hundred miles an hour in four seconds, and you speak of error? Merlin, woman, what kind of standards are you used to?"

They stared at each other for several long seconds before Modera nodded slightly. "You wouldn't know would you…" she said softly, her countenance taking on a commanding presence as she made ready to continue. "I am Arch-mage Modera Manathistle, member of the Council of Six, also known as The Six or the Council of Air. The council rule Dalaran and is made of the six most skilled and powerful sorcerers in Azeroth. Occasionally the postings are political such as Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider who leads the remaining high elves, but there remains a certain level of skill and power required to become a member. We are the elite, child, and we are held forth to all other mages as the standard to aspire to. We are leaders; we have raised islands from the sea, singlehandedly turned the tide of entire battles and pushed back the boundaries of arcane understanding. When I tell you that your spell has errors I do so because I know without a doubt that I can lift this city on my own and set it in the sky. I have the power, the skill, and the knowledge to do so."

Her face and stance softened and returned to the smiling old woman he had seen just moments before. "I also happen to have two hundred years' experience in the art, dear, so don't worry. You've got talent, I'm sure you'll get there eventually."

George gave her a wry grin in return. "Heh, you sounded like my old headmaster Dumbledore when he got angry. Nah, I was more curious about your use crushed gemstones as a base for converting the spell to ritualized thaumaturgy over arithmetic enchanting."

"Oh, that, it's fairly standard procedure, gemstones enhance the flow of a variety of magical energies, though some are better than others of course, depending on what you want to do. Crushing them simply allows us to more accurately draw the design's needed. Why, don't you use gemstones in your work?"

George stared at her. "Arch-mage… gemstones are rare enough in my world that the thought of crushing them to use as standard issue spell ingredients is positively blasphemous. We use them as currency and spell components certainly, and a great many are used as foci or enchanted as powerful artifacts, but to casually grind one to power so you can draw a line of power… it's mind boggling."

"Is it now…" the woman said turning her full attention on him now. "You must speak with me some time at length, Mr. Weasley. I know I and a great many sorcerers here would be quiet fascinated to know how your worlds managed to get over such a limitation. "

George shrugged and held up his wand. "We just drew the line with one of theses. Let a little power out if you're in a hurry and you can write a spellform fairly quickly and as wandlore advanced it became just small symbols in the air and a few choice words. If we had the kind of time you're using here, the ancient mages used gold or silver. It was cheap, a great deal easier to transfigure and reuse and doesn't react strangely to stray spells like gems do."

"So these wands, I assume you aren't talking about one of these," she said pulling one out of her belt. It was a rod, really, with a gem affixed to one end of it and runes carved into one side of the wood. "Things a good condensing focus, I keep it around when I want my fire spells to cut through a charge of armored orcs like a sword rather than melt half the battlefield beneath them. Never been useful for a whole lot else, but the gem makes a nice power amplifier so I keep it around anyways." She held out a hand in an obscure gesture causing it to fill with blue light and coalesce into a large staff that looked to be made of some strange silvery metal with runes and gems embedded along its length and a large opaque stone glowing darkly at the top, surrounded by a ring of the same metal. "These" she said, brandishing the staff and pointing at her temple "are my primary weapons."

George looked over the staff and wand with interest, taking the wand from her, after getting permission, and running his own over it, muttering constantly. After several minutes he handed it back to her.

"So?"

"Yeah," George said "ours are nothing like that."

"Excuse me one moment, child." Modera turned back to the now watching crowd of local mages and began barking orders like a muggle drill seargent George had had the misfortune to meet once when interviewing some of his older employees at their homes. Within moments their entire audience was back to work on their own individual circles of dust. "Now, what were you saying?" she asked kindly, her demeanor motherly once more.

"Well, for starters, whatever the quality of your wand, the wood isn't particularly suited for channeling magic. You can get wand wood from that species, just not the specific one this was cut from. I'm not an expert on wands, mind you, but the man who made most of our wands back home, Mr. Ollivander, stayed with our family for several months and I had plenty of opportunity to speak to him and learn a few basic diagnostic charms. Also, the wood you're using is simply a wooden rod, where as ours have two layers of wood, each printed with runes in silver and connected by strings of gold. Finally the core is composed of the remains of a powerful magical creature, usually unicorn tails hairs or dragon sinew but I've met wizards who use all sorts of cores, even crystalized blood from a nonhuman parent."

Modera who had been listening as intently as Hermione ever had latched on to this last comment. "The remains? Does the creature have to be dead? Or can it still be alive? And what types of creatures?"

"Well, any type of creature really, it just has to be innately magical. I've seen a few plant based cores as well but they don't tend to work as well as animal based ones. As for the creature being dead, that's not strictly necessary, but many of the materials favored for wands usually require great injury to the creature being used. Horn, hair or scale cores are easy to harvest, but dragon sinew, especially heart strings are quiet difficult to take from a live dragon, even the willing ones."

"Yes," Modera said thoughtfully "I can't see any dragon simply giving a human a piece of itself."

George shrugged. "I don't know what dragons are like here on Azeroth, but on our world the non-magical humans made sport of hunting them down and killing them, so when the wizarding world split from the mundane we took the remaining dragon families under our protection just like every other magical creature they were hunting down like animals. Dragons often give their heart strings to favored handlers in their wills."

"Handlers…" the old woman said, looking at him strangely. "Are you saying the dragons keep you as servants, or that you keep them as pets?"

That brought George up short. "You know, I'm not entirely sure what wizard dragon relations are like. I'd have to ask my brother Charlie. He works with them in one of the hidden shelters."

Modera was shaking her head though. "Hidden shelters, splitting the magical and non-magical worlds, low resources for magic, needing to butcher your fellow magical creatures for power; I am deeply sorry for your people, Mr. Weasley. I always thought things were bad here with the general air of distain for wizards that troubles most of the human and dwarven kingdoms, but you world sounds like a nightmare. I suppose there are still world wars on your planet as well?"

George looked at her disgruntled. "Yeah, there have been a few, none that really involved us wizards though, not since the schism."

"Well, good day Mr. Weasley, I shall keep what you've told me in mind. For now, I believe we both have work to do."

~! #$^&*()_+

George spent the rest of the day walking around the mages who were creating Modera's modified flying city circle. There were ninety-four mages in total working on the project, nearly all of whom were apprentices with only a few years training. They were divided onto thirteen groups of seven arranged in circles around the outskirts of the city. A giant circular line of runes connected each of them to the rest and three move similar lines came in Dalarans main gates toward the central tower where the last three mages prepared their piles of dust. The three in the center, he found out from another councilor called Krasus, were setting up their circles to act as navigators, the runes around them acting as extrasensory amplifiers, steering and breaking mechanisms. From what George had been able to glean the number three had been agreed upon as a peacekeeping method between the primary races of the floating city, allowing for three pilots to keep a constant watch on each races priorities. One human, one elf and one gnome. It was all quite interesting to watch and George spent the time chatting up the mages as hey worked and transfiguring the completed lines of crystal dust into solid lines and symbols of clear unblemished gemstone.

As he conducted his pleasant interrogations of the busy mages he showed them holograms of Sirius in both of his forms and asked after him. He wasn't having much luck though; Sirius's silver eyes, while distinctive and memorable on earth, were just one of many unusual shades found on Azeroth and most of his other features were common place enough that he could have slipped the notice of most people. The shape-shifting into a dog gained some attention though. There was one mage who had come from the ruined city of stormwind who spoke of a mage that was known to disappear on most mysteriously on occasion and his great bearlike dog that he kept as a pet. The 73rd mage he spoke to in the circle, near the end of the night also mentioned that the mage had received citation on numerous occasions for researching portals, both arcane and nether based as well as asking about how or if the nether could be disturbed or traversed without disturbing the Legion.

When George told Harry about that shortly before turning in they both agreed that that was likely the kind of questions they would be asking if they were trying to get home so the chances of it being Sirius were fairly strong.

Getting there however wasn't that simple. The continent of Azeroth was nearly seven thousand miles from top to bottom and between two and three across depending on where you were taking your measure.

On foot or with a caravan making the three and a half thousand mile trek from Dalaran to Stormwind would require him to pass through the scourge and bandit infested lands of Arathor and take an extra six hundred mile detour along the inland sea to reach the neck of Azeroth and cross the Thandol span, a great dwarven bridge that crossed a half mile deep ravine between the kingdoms of Arathor and Grim Batol, former bastion of the Wild-Hammer Dwarves and later the Dragon-Maw clan. Then it was either pass through the mountains of Khanz Modan and deal with the trogs, or the wastes of the badlands, the volcanic pit of the searing gorge and try to dodged orcish holdouts and black dragons. A journey of six to eight months he had been told, if he was lucky and didn't get attacked.

By boat the journey might have taken two to three months, save that Jaina Proudmore had taken every unguarded ship in the alliance and loaded it with most of the kingdoms of Arathor, Kul'Tieras and Gilneaus and set out to brave the churning maelstrom for some fabled promised land. The chance of getting a ship to ferry him with any speed was practically nil, as was getting across the great wall King Genn Greymane had erected around his country when it became clear that the scourge was a threat, something George grudgingly gave the man props for, because nobody else seemed to have realized many of the simpler facts of their world.

'Oh there's a mysterious plague that's killing whole cities? Na, that can't be a problem, no sir! Let's send our prince with an investigation team to figure things out. Wait, the prince has abandoned us to chase after the conspirators behind this plague? Ah, let him be, boys will be boys… Oh, he slaughtered and entire major city before he left? Well, what can you do… Hey, he's been gone for four years after his army limped back and suddenly returns looking pallid and psychotic? Let's welcome the prodigal son!' Merlin's balls, it was like dealing with Fudge again.

Other methods of travel were similarly difficult. Messengers and emissaries had, in the past, been willing and able to pay the Wild Hammer Dwarves of Aerie Peak rather sizable sums of gold to ply griffons from one end of the continent to the other, but when the hoard had swept across Azeroth from south to north, most of the way-stations used to support that method of travel had been destroyed and the Dwarves themselves had taken a fairly massive hit during the invasions of the second war. While technically it was possible to fly a single griffon the distance, the best would be murderous by the end of the journey and it would still take several weeks and a great deal of foraging for food to do.

The final local method of travel was via the mages of Azeroth. Before the two wars with the hoard the cities of Silvermoon, Dalaran and Stormwind were connected together by a grouping of stable portals in their central mage towers, as were a number of other capital cities in countries that tolerated mages. In addition to this the magical districts of most smaller towns and cities possessed beacons which allowed the mages to travel across the worlds ley lines via personal portals or teleportation, something which was apparently nearly impossible without these beacons. George still didn't understand the reason for it, but believed it might have something to do with the vastly larger reserves these mages had over his own wizarding brethren. The problem with this was that the first war had led to the loss of a great many mages through the Horde's warlocks repurposing these beacons into ambush sites and the council of six had ordered the destruction of the Stormwind mage tower and its portal when it became clear that the city had fallen.

The red-haired wizard glowered at quietly gleeful Kael'thas as the man explained all of this to him. Still, Stormwind was stable and in the process of rebuilding, Sirius wasn't likely going anywhere and if worse came to worst the richest of the Weasley's had his own, non-local methods of traveling. At top speed, three and a half thousand miles was only a twelve hour flight on Andrea's carpet and two or three if he was willing to chain apparition.

"So, Harry," George said to the projection of his friend, sitting in from of him via their mirrors "Where do you think I should go from here? Traditional methods are out, the maps in this world are shit and, I hate to say this because it makes me feel like a hypocrite for all those time I gave you what-for about taking on other peoples dark lords, I sort of feel like I need to be there for Dalaran… "

Harry shook his ghostly head and gave him a wry grin. "Yeah, it does make you sound like a hypocrite, mate. Can't say I blame you though, Merlin knows I get attached to a bad situation fast enough. If you really want advice on this rather than platitudes or orders, I'd offer that you should go find out if the leads for this 'Stormwind' pan out and return then. You said it was only three and a half kilometers miles right? Leave a tracking charm on our soon to be flying city and take the weekend."

George nodded and was about to break the connection when his friend and contract holder spoke up again suddenly. "Hey! I've had this question gnawing at the back of my mind our whole conversation; If Modera can lift the Island on her own, and I know our broom spell doesn't require channelers, merely magical presences to work, why are they making this big assed array in the first place?"

George laughed. "Y'know I'd thought of that too. According to Harold Drenden, another of the Six Councilors, Modera has this absolute obsession with turning anything she can into training exercises for newbie mages. Drenden said she'd likely done it as a way for students to gain experience in channeling large amounts of magic. People here use magic as often as they can for just about damn anything, because apparently doing so is important for deepening their reserves."

"So, just like home, only the student's aren't lazy as a general rule. Got it."

"And the professors are more sadistic." George added with a grin.

They both laughed and closed their mirrors. George had a trip to plan for.

~! #$%^&*()_+

Jaina Proudmore collapsed to her knees in relief. Land! The crow's nest had spotted land!

The former apprentice to the Arch-mage of Dalaran and daughter of lord admiral Delain Proudmore king of Kultiras heaved herself to her feet and rushed out of the rickety galleons cabin to the deck. There it was! A small mountain bordered by grasslands on one side and a jungle swamp on the other. Yes, they would make land here. It was a bit warmer than her homes in Boralas or Dalaran but with a good breeze of the sea as the greenness of the grass suggested it wouldn't be too bad. "Captian Rogers! Send up a flair, I want the entire armada to know we've set ground! And have the lookout count the answering flairs! I know some of us didn't make it as we skirted edges of the maelstrom and I want a good accounting of the survivors!"

"Right away Milady!" the Kul Tiras officer barked in reply. "You rats 'erd the lady! Get a move on! Launch the oars, ready the forward runway and prepare the blast-anchor! The sooner we make landfall the sooner you scabrous dogs can have some real food instead of hard tack and mage conjurations! …eh, no offense meant, lady Proudmore." The blond sailor said that last part sheepishly.

"It's alright, captain. We mages aren't fond of it either. It takes decades of practice and a fair skill in cooking for it to taste good and not many mages take the time to learn. It's meant for replenishing our energies and sustaining troops when supplies are low, not feasts and banquets."

"Ruff!"

Jaina turned around to see a giant black dog the size of a bear with a white spot on chest, getting to its feet and coming over to lick her. "And how is our mascot, capitan?" Jaina asked with a giggle.

"Eh, heh. I think he's gotten over those murlock's by now. Ol'Grim's certainly much friendlier this morning than he has been most of the trip."

Jaina nodded, scratching the jet black Tibetan mastiff's neck an ears. "Think you can get over there, boy? Wana bring us back rabbit?"

"Um… milady…"

"RUFF!" _POP!_

"Grim's a special dog, captain." Jaina explained with a smile. "I found him one night while I was wondering around Dalaran. I caught him walking out of the back door of a restaurant I was fond of, carrying an entire ham and a chain of sasuage links in his jaws. He froze when he was me and looked so utterly sheepish I couldn't help but laugh. He followed me home and hasn't left my side ever since. He's almost humanly smart and has several abilities; enough that I'd originally thought he might be somebodies experiment run loose. It used to annoy me that he disliked Arthas so, but knowing what I do now…"

There was another crack of displaced air and the dog returned, clutching the bloody corpse of an enormous long limbed boar like creature in its jaws. "I'll call cookie." Captain Rogers said and walked off, leaving Jaina at the wheel.

~! #$%^&*()_+

Watching the great city of Dalaran lift into the air was easily one of the most impressive things George had ever seen. The majestic lavender towers and domes of the great citadel of mages along with a fair portion of its grounds outside the city rose into the sky against the setting sun in a smooth motion and an enormous rush of displaced air bent the trees and grasses surrounding the city.

"It looks like a beetle." Harry's voice issued deadpan from where the mirror hung on Georges chest.

George scowled. "Shut it you…" George grumped as he watched the dirt fall from the under belly of the city's new dome. Then he sighed. "You completely ruined the moment, you know that?"

Harry laughed. "Come on, George, let's get going. _Stormwind awaits!_" he boomed comically.

George chuckled too. "Alright ya ruddy poofter, we're off to see the wizard!"

~! #$%^&*()_+

Thrall heaved and spat up a large amount of water he's swallowed. _That last storm had been a killer,_ he thought, _damned snake woman_. He looked over his shoulder at the wreck of the ship he had taken with Vul'Jin to escape he trolls island. Months at sea with nothing but fish... bah. At least the water spirits had been kind to his people, looking up and down the shoreline it appeared as if most of his crew, packed like sardines as they had been, had survived the crash and were washing or swimming up to shore. Dozens more were spitting up water and releasing their death grips on their weapons. They would survive.

Now, if only he knew where the rest of their stolen fleet was…

"War-chief! Are you well?" turning around and pushing himself to his feet Thrall looked back at the smaller Orc.

"I am, Kraal. What is the status of the fleet, do we know if there were any other survivors?"

"I'm no sure, war-chief, I went back with some of the others to check the ship after we'd dragged you to shore. The wood is rotten and most of the crates of food are smashed and strewn up and down the beach. After all of the damaged we took traveling through the maelstrom and the rocks, there's nothing left to salvage."

Thrall grunted in irritation. "Damn. I should have known the gods would not favor us so. Can we be sure of our location at least? Is this the Kalimdor the prophet spoke of?"

The grunt shrugged, wringing water out of the furs in his helmet. "We followed your orders war-chief, due west and damn the currents."

The blue eyed orc nodded. "Let's gather the men and what supplies we can find and search the coast. If we survived, you can be sure others did as well." Stomping on the ground and holding out his hand the war-chief and shaman communicated his wish with the earth and tides to bring him his great maul, the doom hammer. There was a crack of thunder and an explosion out to sea and the great obsidian maul roared across the waves to slam eagerly into its master's hand. Giving his thanks to the elements Thrall turned to his gathering refugees. He had led them here and now he had a job to do.

~! #$%^&*()_+

George was making good time as he soared over the rising mountains of Khaz Modan. It has only been five hours since he'd left and he was already halfway too his destination. He thought back to Dalaran as he absently munched on some stolen bread. The great city had been covered in a massive aura of gold and violet stars, twinkling like Dumbledore's eyes and as he'd left he could have sworn he saw a shooting star falling from the sky as he left. Starfall indeed, he though remembering the massive explosion that had followed him despite his speed of nearly three hundred kilometers per hour, Andrea hadn't been exaggerating.

The trip, just like the last, had gotten boring quickly. As much as acrobatics in an area with actual gravity were fun, they wore on after a couple of hours and really all the bat-out-of-hell stuff was more Harry's seeker purview than his old beaters antics. For the last two hours he'd been scribbling furiously in his notebook, examining everything he had written about the wonders of Dalaran and how he might recreate them.

The floating, intelligent book shelves were simple enough in theory, just stick them with a levitation charm and ambient power feed and half the job was done. The arcane intelligence was a little harder though… he pulled one of the books he'd stolen out of his satchel and opened it to his last bookmark. The algorithms of this world really were quite fascinating he decided as he sped along, using his recent metamorph powers to thicken his skin against the constant spray of icy particles as he skirted around snowcapped peaks. As best he could tell, everything here started from the base of using ones magical core to conduct the wild magic of the planet itself, something George knew had been considered to be practically suicidal back home. Wild magic was just that, wild. I was governed by its own laws and contained so many different wavelengths that you were as likely to kill yourself as you were to gain power.

But that's where the mages of Dalaran were truly impressive.

George has seen dozens of spells during his time in the great mages city and for each and every one of them; the spells had been formed from wild magic and the raw will power of the casters. They sent out streamers of their power to collect ambient energy from their surroundings and even the veins of the planet itself, separating the affinities from the mix and only taking what was needed for the specific effect they were looking for. He had spoken to a great many of them and if he understood everything correctly they performed the arithmetic calculation for every spell and variant needed to produce their feats in their heads and on the fly, mixing runes, math and magic in a way he had difficulty comprehending. It was like he had been stuck in an entire city of confident powerful Hermione Grangers.

…now there was a scary thought.

The arcane intelligences though… that was fairly similar to do with various advanced animation charms, many of which would develop humorous and typically subservient personalities. Angelina had a tea set back at home that would become positively dejected if you didn't want a full English tea whenever it found you and he would swear that Ginny's mansion preened every time someone entered it.

The brooms were much simpler, he'd adapted various self-cleaning charms to animations before, putting it on a broom was simply a logical next step. He was fairly certain somebody back home was already doing something similar… like the Muggles vacuum cleaners. George was sure Hermione had shown him one from this old man in California that would move on its own, eating hair off your carpet.

But the foods, ah the foods. Mages here didn't use stasis charms to keep their food fresh he'd found, instead they used large pantries covered in environmental control charms to keep all sorts of food at the perfect temperature for preservation. On top of that the small deli he had taken his current store from had been further enchanted to organize anything put in it and call it forth to be sliced, crushed, mixed and layered into a wide menu of things just by talking to the menu at the bar.

Automated magics, portals, space expansion fields and multispace enchantments filled every tower, many of the books were enchanted for memory and comprehension, Georges mind was literally bursting with ideas; so much so that he didn't notice the approaching storm until he was over the gulf between Khaz modan and Stormwind. Closing and stowing his precious journal and stolen books quickly the wayward wizard stowed them and found himself quickly soaked.

Casting rain and wind shields around himself and his flying carpet the redhead went through the motions of drying himself off and morphed away the thick skin that had so protected him from the cold. Still, Stormwind was near. Now that he was at the bay it couldn't be more than two or three hours.

~! #$%^&*()_+

The Prophet watched calmly as the interloper passed through the storm towards the great citadel of Stormwind. It would not be long now before the legion came, he had watched patiently as he strings of fate unwove themselves, but did not darken or disappear. A new weave was coming and once more the former mage felt hope, but how to reward this young hero? How indeed… The unexpected survival of Dalaran had greatly increased their chances of success, he knew, but the interloper had not stayed. Medeivh knew he had not come to save them, but in every vision he received from the slowly rebuilding timeline the man's actions had either saved or prolonged the fight for this world long beyond the previous lines of possibility.

The interloper was here for another of his kin. The former had come through the dark portal on the same day as the former guardian's manifestation rebirth, but the ripples the man's presence had caused had been minimal. The traveler had lost something important and spent his time doing little but trying to get it back. He had changed little. A life saved here, a few books missing there, been an ear to those who needed it. But the new one… he had come at just the right moment. They sought each other but to let them meet would mean losing them. Was it worth it?

The prophet turned his eye back to the tapestry of fate. To weave the threads together that there might be the highest chances… The tinker with many faces would only settle for the shapeshifter, so when to allow them to meet… When would be the opportune moment… There! Yes, that was the way. Medievh knew what he had to do. The second would reach Stormwind and the prophet would meet him there. There was still time, Jaina and thrall would not meet him for another two months at the peak of the stonetalon, and at the sorceresses side would be the first. Yes, he could see how this would work out now. And he knew just how to seal the deal.

~! #$%^&*()_+


	4. Ripples

George lay on his rug, chin in his hands and looked down at the city of Stormwind. It was a large sprawling fortress that had nestled itself snuggly into a thin ravine between two sharp mountains. The city was nearly a mile long from the where the harbor sat, half completed and looking to be cut out of shiny white stone, to the fishing lake that separated the city from the rest of what the map called Elwynn Forest. Well over half of the city looked fresh and new, as evidenced by the large open area cut into one of the mountain sides where workers were busy quarrying the surrounding slope to finish the cities apparent repairs. Looking at the people below George wondered absently if Sirius was still here. If the place was just now being finished after ten years? How recently had the people moved back and where might Sirius be staying? His old hero Padfoot might be a rather unusual member of the Black family, but he was still a Black. They liked their wealth, they liked their power and they _liked_ to lead, generally from the front.

Sirius had done it by being the instigator and mastermind behind most of the marauders pranks. Afterwards, when the four of them graduated, Sirius had gone into the Ministry Hit Wizard corps where he received a hundred galleons a week, his own seldom used monogramed bed in saint Mungo's and quickly rose to the ranks of field captain, where his experience in pranking at Hogwarts allowed him to be an ambush specialist and junior curse breaker. He had always led his teams from point and built quite a following in his department before his former friend and associate Peter Pettigrew had framed him for the betrayal of the Potters to Voldemort and subsequent murder of the real traitor and twelve nearby Muggles in a gas explosion.

Despite Blacks eleven and a half years in Azkaban prison he still managed to gain control of the Black family fortune and not only bankrolled the Order of the Phoenix but constantly butted heads with Albus Dumbledore over who, how, when and what operations should be carried out by the vigilante force. For Padfoot to have been here for any length of time and not taken over something was fairly absurd but the mage had only recognized him as 'some guy' and that offered few possibilities. One, he had died soon after arriving at the city, having obviously been here long enough to make an impression on the mages he spoke with. Two, he had left quickly, seeing as the mage tower was still in the process of being rebuilt and likely hadn't been much more than rubble and private libraries when he'd been here last. Three, he might have changed his name and appearance and taken to running something a bit quieter than politics or the mages or four, he'd lost his wand and had to start all of his magical training from scratch…

Most wizards were fairly useless without their wands, the lax and lazy teaching and learning styles of Hogwarts lending themselves entirely to the fantastically useful crutch that was the wand. More than half of the wizards back in his world couldn't even apparate properly. But Sirius was not one of those wizards… from Lily Potters journals, which harry had let him see once, Black had been quite famous for summoning women's undergarments off of their wearers with neither wand nor notice until said articles were spinning around his finger from across the common room. The crimson haired witch had detailed quite a number of things Sirius could do without his wand in later books after she had joined the group in their mid-seventh year as she had demanded he be her tutor as well as her own experiments into the field, including a wandless, broomless flight charm which she had taught to Severus Snape before their breakup after their OWLs.

Azkaban had robbed Sirius of much of his control and power, but the man had still been able to teach George and his brother how to wandlessly shield. It was what had inspired their shield hats.

Rolling over and cracking his back, shoulders and neck, George set back up and headed for what looked to be a tavern in one of the newly rebuilt sections of the city. It was late, he was tired and he very much doubted anyone was going to help him this late in the day. Floating down into an alley, George shrunk and stowed everything still on the carpet in his bag and then rolled and shrunk he carpet as well. Now he just needed to find an inn.

~! #$%^&*()_+

Kael'thas Sunstrider scowled. They were wasting time. In the last day the now flying city of Dalaran had set down four times to sweep away ranks of scourge and take on new passengers, only half of whom had even been grateful, some actually even blaming the mages for the scourges very existence. They had quieted down at least, when he had loudly suggested that if they didn't want the mages assistance they could always be dropped off and allowed to fend for themselves. For now though, they were kept in quarantine. Blind, stupid ungrateful human commoners…

No… that wasn't entirely true. The commoners had been fairly simple to turn around when faced with the realization that it was the kingdom of Dalaran that had come to save them, uprooting an entire city so that their feeble hides could be sparred. No, the **problem**__was the clergy… Those piddling light magic using priests and paladins who claimed to serve a higher calling of truth, justice and benevolence! Their sanctimonious fear mongering and droning sermons were what was causing the unrest among the refugees. The church of the holy light had never had a particularly cordial relationship with the kingdom of Dalaran and their blatant fear and pigheadedness had long kept the mages of the violet citadel from allowing them to build a cathedral or even a church nearby. Now those unenlightened blowhards had been put in the powerful position of being able to provide succor and much needed defense of the small towns and villages they had passed through against the cursory rampages of leaderless scourge and it had gone to their heads.

Civilians had never had the best relationship with magic users anyways, due to the natural tendency to be cautious around the unknown, but while they weren't treated cordially by those who didn't have extended personal contact with them, they weren't treated harshly either. Respect for their power, a bit of nervous fear at the unknowable, generally helpful attitudes even if the motivation was usually poor. That's how humans were… and dwarves too for that matter. Gnomes, he shuddered just thinking about the insane little creatures, absolutely loved magic and anything else to do with knowledge and elves understood that like it or not, magic was in their blood.

That's why he despised dealing with… _this_. He frowned as he watched a group of civilians cringe away from the mages treating their wounds and handing out food. Useless.

"Milord, Sunstrider?" Kael'thas didn't' even turn around, still intently observing the civilians they were scanning for evidence of the plague or collusion with the cult of the damned.

"What is it, Asromancer Solus." He said, eyes aglow with mage sight.

"I've managed to gain a solid track on our wayward guest." The half-elf reported, still sounding meak and embarrassed. _As well she should be_, Kael thought viciously, _losing a mere human like that_.

"Report."

"He's made it to Stormwind sir, the oaken shield tavern. There's also something else there, something I couldn't see. Sir, whoever he was talking to, it noticed me." She said, sounding shaken. "There aren't many things that have that sort of power."

Kael frowned as he listened intently. Something that knew it was being watched, hmm… what are you up to, Mr. Weasley? "Continue your vigil." He ordered. "Even if you can't see who he's talking too you can still watch him. I want detailed reports on any magic he uses and anything you can discover on that wand of his. Or what it is he's here looking for."

~! #$%^&*()_+

Jaina sat in her tent, absently eating strips of roast boar meat as she spoke with her generals. "We're here, and the peak the prophet said to meet him at is here." She said highlighting two the areas with small balls of blue and red light. "Our scryers tell me that each of these" she said, tapping out more places on the map that lit with green, orange, yellow and purple lights "are native settlements. Now, we've already made enemies with these yellow ones, though whether or not they communicate such is unknown."

"Milady," Spoke up one of the higher ranking paladins, a Duke Lionheart, "we've just landed, how could we have made enemies with any of the locals at this juncture? Unless the pigs we slaughtered were farm animals perhaps, but reparations could be made…"

"Actually," the priest commander spoke up, giving the boar leg he'd been munching on an odd look "the boar **were**__the indigenous we've made an enemy of. Though I doubt the word has spread amongst the tribes Princess Jaina. While smart enough to make crude clothing and use even cruder magics, I don't feel they're particularly intelligent."

Duke looked a little green at this but said nothing as the Wildhammer Dwarf commander slapped him on the back. "Think nothing of it, lad, I know plenty of us have eaten khobold before, and I'm quite partial to Murlock myself, and we all know both of those races are of rudimentary intelligence!"

"Be that as it may," Jaina spoke again, her soft quite voice cutting through the chatter that had sprung up with the revelation of their meal "the other races are still of concern to us." Everyone leaned in as Jaina pointed to a forested area to the north on their hasty drawn map "This area shows a lot of elven activity and a swiftly moving power unlike anything any of my mages have ever witnessed. Do you know anything about his, commander Lor'Danil?"

The high elf so addressed leant forward and placed both of his hands on the table. "Not much Lady Proudmore. I can tell you for certain they're none of mine… however."

"Yes?"

"Old stories, lady. I could regale you later if that is your will." Jaina nodded slowly.

"The short version for now, though I would be quite interested to hear about this unaligned elven presence at length later."

"It is said, among my people, that before the sunwell the continents of Azeroh, Northrend and Kalimdor were one land, a grand continent that surrounded a lake of power whose waters we used to make the well. In ancient times our arrogance gained the attention of the burning legion and the war to drive them out sank most of the continent beneath the waves, creating the three continents and the maelstrom where the lake used to be. After that there was an argument about the use of power and the elven race split; many staying in our ancestral homes, and the rest moved to the other side of the world where we fought the trolls for a new home." He shrugged. "Naturally there's a great deal more to the stories, but most high elves assumed they were just that, stories."

"Interesting," Jaina murmured. "Would sending a delegation of High Elves to these ancient likely yield help?"

"Probably not lady, if they're anything like us, then these native elves have long memories and our schism and the reasons behind it would likely lead to a conflict we could ill afford."

"I'll keep that in mind then. If they have your same fondness for nature I'll send in some of our more agriculturally obsessed sorcerers, but by in large it doesn't look to be a problem. Their settlements on the mountain a few and largely in caves and dead end valleys. The other species though, there are species of anthropomorphic equines, birds and cattle in addition to the pigs in this region." Jaina continued, pointing at the various colored lights. "My scryers reported that they all seem to be in conflict with one another, but we haven't had time for more detailed scans. Hrunting, have reports come from your griffon scouts?"

Hrunting Wildhammer nodded. "Aye, lassie, that they did. The pig men seem to keep mostly to the thick thorn covered mounds and are rather animalistic in behavior and defense of their territory. As the priest said earlier though, their only signs of intelligence are the occasional bit ah clothing and use ah magic, though a few seem to have tamed these hunch backed dogs. The bull men and he horse men fight each other constantly and the skirmishes my scouts noticed seemed pretty even, though it was nearly always the horse men who attacked. If you'll look at the map here though you see the real problem" Hrunting said, pointing to the blue line where it intersected the purple dots. "The bird women are viciously territorial and attacked my scouts as soon as we even go in sight of their valley, and they're right in the only path up your lassies mountain."

"So we'll need to clear them out then." said the priest, smiling pleasantly. "I wonder how the omelets will taste?"

~! #$%^&*()_+

Thrall added a large armful of the dry golden grasses that covered this area to a fire as his men set about salvaging materials from one of the wrecked ships they had found recently. Most of the crew of trolls and Orcs had survived the journey and were now helping them as well. As the smoke began to billow thick and black the blue eyed Orc shaman closed his eyes and began meditating. Reaching out with his power he called to the spirits of wind and fire to cast his signal into the sky in the specific puff formation the Hoard used for quick communication between disparate camps. The hoard would gather, and the easier it was for them to recognize a rallying point he faster they could be about reaching the prophet.

Thrall heaved a sigh as the spirits agreed to carry his message for him. He had led his people here to save them from conflict, but everywhere hey turned it seemed as if they were being attacked. First the horses with the bodies of men in place of their neck and head, then the pigs who had learned to stand. What was next? Where was the end he had been promised? This land was beautiful, true, and there were none of those infernal humans or elves, but there was still no end to the senseless bloodshed.

He looked over to where his men were busy roasting a group of pig-men and sighed. Might as well, food was still food after all and he couldn't lead his people if he was starved.

~! #$^&*()_+

George looked up from his breakfast as another man sat down in front of him. They stared at each other for several long minutes in silence as George continue eating. The other man appeared to be old, with a full, if close cropped beard and long unbound grey hair. He was wearing a heavy cloak of maroon cloth that looked vaguely like a cross between wool and burlap. His shoulders were adorned by a large steel plate with a multitude of long black feathers hanging off of it. Beside the table the man lay a long gnarled wooden staff which had more feathers, numerous beats and even a few claws and teeth hanging off of it. George recognized the magic coming from one of the teeth… it was dragon. He tilted his head slightly as he continued to eat quietly, pondering this and the other unknown materials leaking power on the bulbous roughhewn eagle that made the end of the stick.

A wand substitute perhaps? Though the multiple cores and their external nature would likely lead to instability more than power… unless he had the control to use singular cores as he found necessary?

Then the man spoke, interrupting his thoughts. "Greetings, traveler."

George nodded, smiling slowly. "Greetings, mage." He replied, playing a little slide of hand to make I look as if he was picking something up off of his plate. "Crème?"

The Man nodded gravely. "Thank you." He said simply, popping the Canary crème in his mouth and chewing. George paused in his breakfast and watched in consternation as nothing happened. The man chewed, he swallowed and nothing. He had been so certain… had the power of the ingredients waned? He was fairly sure he'd packed this bag only a week before falling through the portal, it couldn't have gone that far, could it? Perhaps the energies in the nether?

"Interesting. A good taste." The man said, absently. "How did you work the polymorph spell into the candy? It's quite ingenious."

George scowled, the brightened. "How'd you detect it? Or even beat it? I made those as a joke with my brother while we were still in school and they've worked on everybody so far, even elves and I know from back home that different races can have odd reaction to various potions."

"It was a potion then?" the cloaked figure asked, looking deeply intrigued now. "Fascinating. There are quite a number of potioneers on this world, but nearly all potion making fixates around curatives, poisons and enhancements. If only there were more time to pick your brain…"

"What do you mean?" George asked curiously.

"Well, that skeletal lich you attacked on your way in?" George's eyes widened. "That wasn't the end of it. Not by a long shot."

George sat forward, suddenly serious. "But I killed the summoner and the mages were proving themselves quite capable before I set their city in the sky. Shouldn't the portal be gone?"

The mage nodded gravely. "Perhaps, but a great doom settles upon this land still." He said, heavily. "Your attack upon their summoner and disruption of their ritual saved Dalaran… for now. But you only killed one summoner, and the beast yet lives."

George's eyes widened. "B-but… the fiendfyre! Demons are all magic, and the nether was worse, it should have consumed him!"

"I regret to tell you this, but all you have done is made Archimonde angry. Vast armies of lesser demons died before the leaders of the legion managed to quell your attack, but the legions armies are limited only by the power available for consumption on our side of their portals and they've drained and turned millions of worlds before this one. The blessing in this is that you have given us time. Time we did not have before. Time to prepare. I need you to return to the mage city and convince them to journey to Kalimdor."

George erected a privacy barrier around the pair of them and swore loudly. "I'm sorry for your world, mage, but I'm only here to find a friend. For all that I'd like to help; I'm really not the hero type."

"Perhaps," the wizened stranger allowed, with a half-smile "but the dogstar is already in Kalimdor." He finished slyly.

"_What?!_" George hissed. "How do…"

"I've been watching over this world for a very long time, George Weasley," the man replied, smiling enigmatically "and you've hardly made your intentions a secret. Worry not though, I didn't send him there so that I could lure you into my war… no, that part's merely convenient."

"So why send me back to Dalaran?" George snapped. "Why not just give me a proper map so I can apparate there?"

"Ah!" the man said, leaning back and turning serious. "That part's actually quite simple really. The remaining summoners, the many you didn't kill, have, just last night, managed to open a portal to the nether, allowing in a trickle of lesser demons. They're focusing on spell casters mostly, in order to build the speed at which the portal opens. In two weeks the scourge and their demon masters will have succeeded in opening a portal wide enough for demon general Archimonde and his brother Kiljaden to enter this world. When they do, they will have three primary targets: Dalaran, the world tree in Kalimdor and you. First, they will sweep Lorderan of life and then they will begin expanding towards the only targets they feel hold any threat. Alone, both you had Dalaran will be taken down easily and your friend will die in the battle for the world tree. There is already a low, if acceptable; chance we will win that fight and defeat Archimonde, and it is a path I will see bourn to fruition, but most of the world will die in the meantime. However, if you were to bring the mages of Dalaran, then between you, them, Jaina Proudmores alliance, the orcish hoard and the night elves we may truly have a chance! The possible paths I would have to choose from would not merely consist of driving the legion back, but gaining a decisive victory over them."

George looked at the man, a migraine building in his forehead. "Merlin's balls I really have become Harry…" he muttered "how does he survive with this kind of luck?" he sighed. "And I still need to research portals too."

The man smiled. "I think you'll find that of little consequence." The man replied smiling. "Help me save Azeroth and I'll build you your portal. I can quite humbly claim to be this world's foremost expert on the subject."

George looked the man over carefully. "What's your name?"

~! #$%^&*()_+

George was preparing to leave when the riot started. He was walking along the canal between the old town and the cathedral district when the din of the area suddenly turned angry. The red head looked around trying to see what the problem was when one of the burly, dust covered men who make up most of the crowd elbowed him in the face, knocking him into the canal. George came back up, spluttering, his wand in his hand. "_Stupefy!_" he spat, a beam of red energy lancing out to hit the man in who's wild movements had sent him flying. A large rock, the size of a grape fruit fell from the workers limp hand as he crumpled under the influence of the spell. Crawling out of the water George began firing more stunners, silently and in mass. People started screaming and one of the workers tried to kick him back into the water, sending one of Georges curses flying up over the crowd to hit a black haired woman standing on a balcony beside two others.

Groaning and reeling from the blow George reached into his bag and drew out the first thing that came to hand. A portable swamp exploded against one of the rioting workers and everything stopped. The people froze in shock as the entire area became covered in thick soggy swamp vegetation and thick muddy water filled the street up to their waists despite the canal and holes in the balcony.

Everybody was looking around spluttering and no longer rioting in their confusion, so George pulled out the carpet and un-shrunk it. Whipping it out like a table cloth it sat there waiting for him to clamber aboard. After a few quick cleaning charms he did so and was about to take off when the man from the balcony called out.

"Mage! Hold! What is the meaning of this?" George looked around at the black haired man in his wide shouldered cloak and expensive cloths. He was holding the woman George his hit with that stray curse when he'd been kicked and somehow managed to still look regal despite his and everyone around George bearing the stunned countenance of a drowned rat.

"Eh, sorry about that!" George said with a sheepish grin. "They attacked me and I guess I sort of overreacted. Don' worry, it'll all reverse itself in a day or two!"

"So the lady Prestor isn't dead?" came the soft pleasant voice of the blond woman standing beside the pair, with a baby in her arms. There was a bit of Spanish hanging moss in her hair and she was soaked like everybody else, but still somehow beautiful.

"Yeah," George replied "I was angry, but none of the curses were lethal."

"Curses?" the man in the fancy clothes barked out. "You people are throwing curses around now?"

"Hey, hey, hey, hey!" George said, waving his hands. "There's no we in this, don' go blaming your mages, I'm just visiting. Besides, if you've got rioting on your hands, meddling in the affairs of wizards is the last thing you need to be doing! Speaking of which, why are they rioting? Word when I stopped by Dalaran was that Stormwind had one of the better kings…"

The people down below, those who weren't stunned or otherwise cursed, had been listening in and all began shouting at once as soon as he finished the question. George raised his wand and here was a sound like a thunder clap or cannon blast. "Well?" he asked, looking at the dark haired man and his two lady friends.

"I am the king," the black haired man said. "My name is Varian Wyrn and I'm pleased to hear that the kingdom of Dalaran has such a high opinion of me. As to this riot, they are the stonemasons, the men and women who rebuilt our noble city." He bowed his head briefly and sighed. "They are demanding payment for their work and I would like to pay them, my wife and I agree that they deserve just and fair compensation," he paused while there was a bunch of shouting from the people still in the square. George raised his wand again and everyone quieted down allowing the man to continue. "Unfortunately things are not that simple. The Royal treasury does not have enough to cover the entire cost in a single sum and the nobles who have agreed to fund the effort are stonewalling me. Between maintaining the kingdom, assisting in the northern kingdoms war against the scourge and trying to pay the masons I simply don't have the funds to give them more than one gold in ten."

George looked at them man for several minutes. "Sire, I'm normally a prankster, but I feel compelled to quote a, ah… king… from my own homeland. I have the army, what do you have? Call the nobles to court, remind them of the contract, and if they refuse your direct order to pay up then they're guilty of lesser treason. Arrest them on the spot and seize the funds to pay the masons. The council of six had a high opinion of you when I asked about coming here so you're obviously a good king, but if you've got rioting on your hands then you've either got enemies within your court and you need to clean house or you're doing something wrong."

King Varian looked as if he was carefully restraining himself from gaping like a fish. "Any other sage advice, mage?"

"Be kind to your knees," George said as he directed his carpet to begin its ascent "you'll miss them when they're gone!"

George flew away to the sound of queen Tiffins laughter.

~! #$%^&*()_+

Following his tracking charm George apparated away long stretches of the flight and made it back to the city in little over an hour, feeling sore and drained from apparating long distance multiple times in a short period. Drifting down towards the city George's carpet came to rest on one of the upper balconies of the guild hall for the Order of the Violet eye. A relatively small mushroom shaped building, the violet eye were primarily farseers, scryers and other types of a mages dedicated to the arcane art of information gathering. Everything from medicine and criminal investigations to weather forecasting and outright spying was studied here. That wasn't to say that the mages who most frequented the buildings libraries were limited to information gathering and useless at domestic arcanism or battle sorcery, just that it wasn't their current obsession.

As such, the moment George set down there was a mage with a glass of mage conjured wine there waiting for him. "Good evening, Mr. Weasley. Lord Sunstider and Ms. Solus will be quite pleased to hear of your return, but I felt it prudent to warn you prior" the gnome squeaked. "I don't suppose you'd allow me a thorough examination of that carpet would you? I'm an enchanter normally, took up a membership among the scryers so I could learn ways to access tomes my rivals hide from me. I could teach you in trade if you will, word in the guild hall is that you're an enchanter yourself."

George looked at the little creature for several long seconds as he finished the mage wine. It was unbearably sweet and only mildly alcoholic but he could feel the power of it spreading out from his stomach and lending him strength. Fascinating stuff, ingestible, easily converted magic. Another thing he'd be sure to learn before he left. "I don't suppose you could help me convince everyone to turn his city around?"

The bearded childlike creature looked slightly confused. "Help? Certainly, but why ever would you want to do that? Lord Sunstrider for one will be absolutely infuriated by the notion."

George hummed, frowning. "The demons are still coming. While I managed to destroy their first portal and only caster with any real power, there's still thousands of lesser sorcerers in the scourges ranks. They opened the portal before I could get there and it's bound to too many people for me to stop it. It's small, only allowing one lesser demon through every ten minute but they're pulling through demon spell casters, it'll be big enough to challenged Dalaran before too long and the world soon after."

The small creature paled, looking slightly green now. "How long do we have?"

George considered. He had talked this over with Medivh and the former guardian believed that with the new setup it would take about two weeks until they could summon Archimonde again, but with demons, little was certain. "About two weeks maybe less. We are dealing with demons after all."

"You would have us fight?" the little not-house-elf asked looking determined.

George snorted. "If only it were that easy" he replied, finishing the mage wine. "No offense to the archmage's spellwork, but Archimonde will tear this city out of the sky and use our own magic to collapse any building that doesn't fall apart in the crash. No, we need to follow Jaina Proudmore to Kalimdor. As I understand it Prince Kael'thas's goal is to save his people and I've got no problem with that, we'll need the troops. Plus, getting civilians out of the way will make it easier to reclaim the continent later. Doomsday spells and all of that."

"You really think it will be that bad?"

"The last time the demons came here half of your world sank leaving only the mountains on three sides." George replied with a grimace. "You tell me…"

~! #$%^&*()_+

Koriliztraz ran a claw over the pool dashing the image and ending the spell. Medivh… of course, the meddlesome fool. _Watched the tapestry of fate unwind, and yet not die or go dark._ That explained much… if only… "Korilisraz, what is it my love? You seem troubled of late."

The great wyrm sighed "I need your council my queen. The mortal, I know you were watching, what do you think of him?"

"He seems a man driven, dear Krasus. What of him?" The red aspect commented, turning away from where she was arranging her latest clutch atop a smoking volcanic vent.

"He is the one the time lord warned me about." The red consort replied, prowling back and forth before the hot-spring. The life-binder turned her full attention upon her mate as he began to detail his plight. "When Nozdormu called out to me in pain and desperation I was shocked. Why me instead of a member of his own flight? He has rebuffed my advances many times before when the world and I had grave need of his aid, why turn to me? Regardless, unless you have something that requires my attention, my light, he is still an aspect and as such I obey. I approached Dalaran dubious and worried only to find that the traveler I had been so warned of had just saved Dalaran and perhaps the world from the wrath of the legion."

The ancient red huffed and a billow of multicolored fire burst from his maw to play across the spring, setting of a pillar of steam that danced with the colors of the rainbow. "I was confused. The timeless one had warned me of a traveler from the nether who preceded the demons and who's presence was unmaking time itself. But when he was questioned and his recent actions scryed he was revealed to have broken a former colleague and powerful lich, potentially slain Archimonde and saved the city of Dalaran from a swift and cruel fate! What was I to do? Nozdormu had demanded his head for damaging time itself, but if that were true, it would mean that the time lord would see Dalaran destroyed, Azeroth in ruins and a hero dead! It goes against all we stand for, the mandate we were given by the shapers! As such, I decided to watch."

Korilistraz clawed the smooth floor of the cave, digging deep grooves into the stone. "His next act was no less beneficial." The old red continued, frustration clear in his voice. "While raiding one of the spires he was caught by us stealing a rug of all things."

"A rug? The animal skins mortals spread on the floor to soften it for comfort?" Alexsrtaza asked, bubbling amusement in her voice.

"Sort of," the dragonmage replied with a frown. "The mages of Dalaran are more cultured than the usual subjects of your patronage. These rugs are woven of other fibers for more flexible shapes and vibrant coloring. This one, our human from the nether was enchanting to fly with the speed of a dragon." He snorted. "When he was caught he informed us of what he had done just prior and offered us his enchantment to move the great city out of harm's way as well as suggesting that if the mages of Dalaran could not bear to leave their homes and yet longed to rescue their countrymen from the scourge, they should use the enchantment to set their city in the sky and move it where help was needed."

"Impressive, my love. Though I am at a loss to what it is you require my opinion on, the answer is fairly obvious. Guide his heroism so that it reinforces the timeline. I cannot imagine that my cousin would support these tragedies the mortal has averted, but there must be something that his actions have changed which is vital. Seek it out and you will find your path. Even the smallest of action accrue ripples, it may not be him that Nozdormu fears, but something only vaguely related."

"Perhaps, my love," Korilistraz hummed "but his recent actions have brought even greater interest. He was recently in Stormwind, talking with the former guardian Medivh. The man has been reborn from the lingering power of his guardianship and the warped flow of time around the makers tower, Kharazhan. Since his resurrection he's been playing the shadow game, pretending to be a prophet and trying to push the moral races to banding together and stopping the demon advance. The very advance his former life allowed to occur in the first place."

"I think the blame for that actually rests upon the arrogance of his mother, Agewynn. She thought to hold the corrupted shaper back herself for three centuries and believed herself to have defeated it shortly before the birth of her son. The poor deluded girl. I felt her mothers pain when she saw what she had wrought."

"Still, my love, he revealed a vital clue to the timeless one's plight. He claimed to have watched as the stream of fate unraveled and changed. Nozdormu is intricately bound with time itself and to feel the entire future change within him must have been horrifically painful, thus his belief that our unexpected guest was destroying time itself. Medivh revealed that it was his intent to guide time down the path best suited to defeating the legion and Mr. Weasley's interference from another world allowed for a much higher number of successful timelines. For example, Mr. Weasley's simple presence saved the life of the human queen Tiffin. One of Neltarions brood had arranged for a riot to cover the assassination of the queen as a part of a long reaching plot to destabilize the last human kingdom. Part of her revenge for the death of her lover Searinox at the hand of Arthas five years ago. George Weasley struck the assassin with a spell, buried the square in marsh plants and water and struck Lady Prestor, Onyxia's current guise, with a curse; all of it completely by accident!"

Alexstraza tilted her large bearded head. "Oh, what curse?"

"Aphros Nox." He replied, swinging his tail like an angry cat. "I used one of his personal items to scry his world and research the spell, curious how it might debilitate deathwings most unstable child." Korilistraz bowed his head, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "It was developed in jest by the mages of his world and worked on our enemy because it's not inherently harmful and would not contest out races shields."

"Interesting, lover, but that does not explain what it does." The red aspect replied, grinning toothily.

"It stimulates the dopamine receptors of the body giving the victim the feeling of a blinding full-body orgasm, one so intense they pass out from the shock and don't wake for days. It was banned on his world for being addictive in nature. Onixiya has seldom before taken mortal guises and to my knowledge never 'stooped' to consorting with mortals sexually."

Alexstraza's laughter rocked the caves causing her aura to flare wildly and spawning lush green plants all over the immediate area. "She's going to be a wreck when she awakens!" the life binder managed through her bell like peals of merriment. "A prankster indeed! I almost feel sympathy for this mortal… Onyxia will doubles pursue him, though to what end I cannot decide!"

Korilistraz shuffled uncomfortably and let out a small laugh. "Perhaps you'd like to meet him? My friends of the Kirin Tor have requested our assistance and as protected as this cave is by your brilliance, it is still within reach of the demons and the scourge…"

"We shall see…" replied the enormous female dragon at length. "We shall see…"

~! #$%^&*()_+

George watched patiently as refugees from the latest city streamed through a portal into the bowels of the great floating city. The chamber was filled with mages keeping a watch on the rescue effort, picking off minor undead who got through the defensive screen of war mages and offering food and healing magics to the wounded. Dalaran was making its way past he city of Andorhal in what used to be eastern Lorderan. This close to the ruined city the survivors were becoming scare, most of the smaller towns and farming villages having been consumed while the cities occasionally had holdout groups of alliance troops, usually led by former paladins of the silver hand.

There was a small flurry of activity as one of the refugees being scanned for plague cried out and drew a serpentine runed dagger on the mages examining his magic. "My life for Ner'zul!" The man's scream echoed across the room as he swung wildly at the gathered men and women. The man, little more than a boy really, was wild and sloppy in his attacks, but he was fast and seemed to have a great deal of energy despite his starved countenance. Several of the mages were shielding as they desperately formed matrices for spells of one type or another. George began moving in for a clear shot, but it ultimately proved unnecessary as a bald bearded dwarf, his arms and chest covered in glowing blue and purple runes darted forward and grabbed the back of the boys head and slammed him into the ground with a sickening crunch.

A pale blue mist billowed up from the corpse and collected into the ghost of the boy who cackled something about power and immortality before disappearing in a steak of cobalt light. This had happened from time to time, damned cultists. The cult of he damned were a doomsday group who worshiped the Lich King Ner'zul as a god. They were like those muggle suicide bombers Hermione talked about occasionally, except that for them, suicide was just that, here they really did get a reward for going out with a bang. It still boggled George's mind how someone would willingly just die for some madman.

Still, the dwarf with the runes was fascinating to him. Walking over to where the mages were discussing what to do with the body, George transfigured it into a well-muscled hog and turned to engage the Dwarf. "That's an interesting bit of magic you've got there, Master Dwarf, would you mind if I asked you about it?"

"Bori Sparkaxe." The burley creature grunted, holding out a hand.

"George Weasley." He replied taking the Dwarfs thick meaty hand in his own.

"Well met, master Weasley. You've an interesting bit of magic yourself or so everybody keeps saying, looking at what you did with the traitor I'd have to agree. You can hold your alcohol?"

"Usually, Mr. Sparkaxe. Why do you ask?"

The runemaster gave a gruff dry laugh. "I'm a dwarf, laddie, you wanna talk we'll do it later with a good pint. For now, we're on duty and it doesn't pay to get distracted." George nodded, putting a silent tracking charm on the man before walking back to where he'd been watching earlier. Pulling out his mirror he called Harry again, hoping that this time his friend was awake.

"GEOGRE!" Harry shouted, diving on the other side of the mirror as soon his the redhead called his name. "How's Stormwind? Was Sirius there? What have you learned?"

"Hello to you too." George replied, grinning ruefully. "I'm back in Dalaran though. However, Stormwind _did_ give me a concrete on Sirius's location."

"So you know where he is? Why aren't you there? Is something wrong?" Harry asked, looking far more excited than Harry had seen him in a while.

"A few things mate. Remember how I told you about the armies of infiris? And how they're trying to summon demons? Turns out I only delayed them. There's a seer here who says it's going to be an apocalypse event here on the inside of two months. He's got a lot of plans on how to allow most of the world to survive it, but if I don't bring Dalaran to the fight Sirius and most of the rest of the world will die. I suppose I could find him and run, but you know Sirius would never run from a fight. Also, to get back on my own I'd have to learn portals or get Sirius to the black portal in the heart of demon land and call the ethereals."

George gave a biter laugh. "I feel like I've taken your place in one of your adventures… is it always like this?"

"Yeah," Harry replied with a quiet grin "pretty much." There was a pause then Harry spoke again. "Did the prophet happen to say what Sirius was doing there?"

George promptly snorted. "He's following around Jaina Proudmore, the leader of the human, dwarven and elfish forces who left the war here to set up a last stand effort across the pond. He wouldn't say more than that though. I'll say this though, the image he showed me of this Jaina? _Very_ pretty. Straight golden blond hair, blue eyes, heart shaped face, hour glass figure, slim and toned. She's only 26 but knowing your godfather I doubt he'd let that stop him. She used to be the personal apprentice of this worlds merlin too, so he'd probably just see it as a challenge."

Harry was grinning on the other side of the line. "He deserves a girlfriend." Harry replied ruefully. "Fourteen years of being locked up and ten in another world. He deserves some form of happiness. …A war though; are you sure your prophet friend or those Ethereals couldn't pull me over there to help? As a dragon or a mage I could really help!"

"A dragon and a mage?" George turned around to see the old albino elf, Krasus walking up behind him.

"Councilor." George said bowing. "To what to I owe the pleasure?"

"My wife" the ancient mage replied gesturing to another elf with auburn hair, glowing golden eyes and a deep tan "was interesting in meeting you."

"Enchanted, milady." George replied bowing and taking the woman's hand with a kiss and a flourish before bouncing back up. "If, as you've suggested, you've told her about me, would the lady like a biscuit?"

"Oh?" the woman has a soft, high voice that reminded George of Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes. "And what has this one been enchanted to do?"

George smiled broadly. "You _have_ told her of me then." George said, grinning even more broadly, still offering the cookie. "It's a simple potion based glamor, milady councilor, a color change with every bite. It's keyed to hair and eye mostly, but a few of the elves here suffered skin changes as well. I haven't tried the dwarves or gnomes yet," he finished frowning "not sure if it might turn out to be poisonous to them. It fades after a few hours though. The point was a joke after all."

"So, your friend mentioned being a dragon?" the woman asked.

"AH!" George exclaimed, moving the mirror in his hand to point at the pair of them. Harry waved as George introduced them. "Harry, this is Krasus, one of the mage leaders here. Sort of a Dumbledore type figure according to everything I've heard. …And his wife apparently. My apologies, milady, I didn't get your name?"

"Alexstraza." She replied, softly, looking at him for signs of recognition.

George didn't though. "Alexstraza…" he said slowly "sounds exotic. Is it an elven thing?"

The couple looked at each other and made a bunch of gestures and expressions that the wizard couldn't decipher before turning to him and smiling. "Something like that" Alexstraza replied. "For now, you can just call me Lady Alex."

"Right then. Harry, this is Lady Alex. And since she doesn't look like vacant arm candy or an eager apprentice I suppose that means she's an eons old mage like the councilor here."

Lady Alex smiled enigmatically. "Harry, dear, you told your friend you were a dragon and he didn't seem surprised. I… have a certain way with dragons myself. Would you mind telling me which type?"

"My animagus form is that of a Hyberdian drake. I can't show you my full form here, the office I'm in is far too small."

Krasus smiled at the pair of them. "What is this animagus for you speak of? It sounds like you're calling yourself a druid shapeshifter."

Harry looked back through the mirror at the old elf. "You have a class of wizards that specifically change into beasts?" Harry asked, both he and George looking nonplussed at the idea. "Any magic user can do it here, thought learning is pretty difficult."

"Interesting…" Krasus muttered "interesting. May I see?"

"Sure," Harry replied through the glass, and closed his eyes. George watched as the two elves in front of him grew rigid as Harry's skin turned black and his cloths melted into the form of a small black dragon. He opened his now solid green eyes with their cat like pupils and continued. "I get a lot bigger than this and can change with just a split second of thought, effort and a pop of displaced air, but keeping myself small slows the change and requires concentration. Being able to morph my skin into dragon hide has saved me quite a few times though I can tell you."

"You're a black…" Krasus hissed; eyes angry. Harry looked through the glass at George, confused.

"Well, yeah," George replied. "A lot of dragon species have black or grey coloring. Green is common too, but occasionally you get red, blue, brown and pretty much every other color depending on the species you want."

"Common Welsh green and Hyberdian Black are the primary species here in England." Harry added, becoming human again with a pop. "What's the big problem with black?"

Krasus was about to speak but stopped at a touch on the shoulder from Alex. "The dragon fights here are all of the same species, but each flight has a different color of scale. The blacks used to be noble beings, and good friends of ours, but then, a long time ago, their leader went mad and the entire flight has been locked in a viscous war with the rest of the planet ever since. Black dragons are generally considered to be evil by most on this world and they're not far from the truth."

George and Harry looked at each other again through the floating mirror. "Tell us more." They said in unison, turning to the married couple.

Their conversation was long and involved and got interrupted several times by more ghouls charging through the portal after fleeing civilians, cultists getting caught in entrance scans and trying to kill the scryers and the occasional plague victim turning and attacking their families. George turned most of them into farm animals and placed compulsions on them to gather in a calm and orderly fashion. By the time Dalaran decided that he place was cleared of anyone worth saving there was a collection of nearly two dozen cattle, swine and goats along with a whole swarm of chickens siting on the other beasts backs.

"So, you're telling me" Harry was saying, "that the dragons of your world are intrinsically connected to the health of your planet; earth, life, time, magic and dreams." Lady Alex nodded, her glowing golden eyes looking somehow pleased. "And the blues and reds are practically extinct, having only a few dozen members each?" Harry waited for a nod. "Furthermore, this emerald dream which connects the dreamers of the entire planet both to one another and to the green dragonflight is actually the Titans world shaping template laboratory and the health of the flights in affected by the health of their realms and vice versa."

"You're obviously building to something; wizard," Krasus interjected calmly, a brow raised "spit it out."

"Have you ever considered an adopt-a-wyrm project?" George asked, cottoning on easily to Harry's plan. The pair of hidden dragons stared at him. "You said it yourself, Lady Alex, for every egg a dragon queen lays, four out of five will hatch but maybe one or two of those will hatch a healthy drake. Of those drakes who hatch properly and without weakness or deformities only one in seven will live to the point in their development when they mind moves beyond basic instinct and can learn behavior, language and magic. Even then it's still a statistic of one in fifty who reaches adulthood and you need two, one male one female like most other species, to produce a clutch. This means that you need three and a half thousand eggs, sixty years and a lot of luck to produce a breeding pair. The dragon races options then are to have millions of eggs in hopes of a higher population growth or feed the young drakes excessively so that they mature faster physically, though as you mentioned, this seems to stunt their growth mentally, magically and emotionally."

George paused for a breath and Harry took over. "There is a third option though that your dragon friends don't seem to have considered" the black haired shapeshifter explained "and that is adoption. Have the dragon queens you said you were friends with offer their eggs or young drakes to mortals they feel they can trust, even if only a little. As the dragon grows it will foster a special level or trust and working understanding between the two as they learn from, teach and defend each other. From what George tells me the wizarding city of Dalaran has always been neutral with everyone, striving as it has merely to balance its neighbors and bring some sort of peace due to the multinational and multispecies nature of its membership. Given the stated factors such a program would cut the loss ratio down to ten eggs to produce a mating pair and to me that seems like a good place to start."

"It would also be a good place to begin redeeming the black flight." George added before the two grand arch mages could speak. "You said Deathwings flight is as mad as he is because they're raised under the tyranny of a lunatic, so the easy answer to the problem is to steal his eggs. He certainly doesn't have a problem stealing the reds eggs according to your story of your apprentices rescue of the red dragon aspect, an event you claimed created an alliance between the reds and Rhonin if not Dalaran in general."

The four of them stood there for several minutes, just looking at each other. George was considering doing something just to break the uncomfortable silence when the councilor's wife spoke up. She was smiling softly and there was a sense of amusement and respect in her glowing eyes. "It seems the Red Dragon Flight has more to thank the humans of Dalaran for. We'll be sure to consider your proposal, wizards."

George and Harry looked at each other smirking. "You're the rescued aspect aren't you?" Harry asked. Lady Alex nodded.

"As I told you earlier, my name is Alexstraza, and my title is the life binder. The wild places of Azeroth and the crops of the civilized mortals suffered a large hit upon my capture and the slaughter of most of my elder family. This scourge never would have been allowed to occur had my flight been at its rightful strength. Alas, the agents of the burning legion are canny in their power. This plot has been nearly eleven thousand years in the making and in the arrogance of our victory and millennia's old holding act we fell for it."

The structure shook then and the mages who had gone to secure the other side of the portal streamed through as we lifted off, heading for the next point in our journey to Quel'Thalas.

"Councilor," George said as the pair began to walk off.

"Yes, friend Weasley?" the ancient dragon mage replied, stopping and turning to glance over his shoulder.

George drew a deep breath and stood at a stiff facsimile of attention. "Anything you could do to speed our trek to and evacuation of Quel'Thalas would be deeply appreciated, councilor Krasus."

"Your conversation with the prophet." The prime consort said nodding. "I understand. The guardians have often shown the ability for glimpsing the time stream. I'll do what I can to save your friend. It's the least I can offer for all the lives you've saved so far."

With that, everybody went their own ways; George had a dwarf to cross-examine.

~! #$%^&*()_+

The anthropomorphic races  
Bear: Furbolg  
birds: Harpy's, Acora  
bulls: Tauren  
bug: Silithid, mantid  
dogs: Gnols  
fish: Murlock, ginue  
Goat: satyr &? Draenai  
horses: Centaur  
Lobster: muraqua  
monkeys: …  
mushroom: … sporelocke  
pigs: quillboar  
panda: …  
Rats: Khobold  
Spider: Nerubian  
Snake: Naga  
Tree: ancient, trent  
rabbit: vermin  
wolf: Worgan  
walrus: tuskar  
wolverine: Wolvar  
So, will all of this, I've got to ask… _**WHERE ARE MY POOR CATGIRLZ!**_


	5. Swell

I often find myself wondering a various game mechanics, such as the one where every one of the disparate races of any RPG has their own, often unique, language but they can all somehow talk to each other upon first meeting.

Ginny Potter was frozen in shock.

There was of course a good reason for this. Not moments ago she had come out of the manor's floo after a long practice with the harpies where Angelina Weasley was still treating her stiffly. She had been passing her husband's office when he had burst out of the door laughing happily and grabbed her up, first spinning her around like a rag doll and then leading her in a dance of some sort, still cackling exuberantly. They had (waltzed perhaps? She wasn't sure) most of the way to the kitchen door when she finally overcame her shock. "Harry, Harry!" she shouted at her black haired hero "Not that I'm not flattered by the sudden attention, but what's the occasion?"

And indeed she was somewhat flattered. Their relationship was on a higher note that it had been in… years… They still had their squabbles over the state of the house regularly, but most of their other problems had abated with him being readily on hand to support her now days. They were training for their third match in the world cup series, a grudge match this time, against Bulgaria. The former czarist state had knocked them out of the finals last year with only two matches to go.

"George has found him Gin!" Harry crowed, hugging her tightly before shoving her roughly out to arms-length and holding her shoulders. "He's alive on the other world, Azeroth, and George is gathering an army to rescue him! Can you believe it? George, gathering an army!" the wizarding worlds poster boy laughed delightedly. "Cheeky bugger's finally getting to understand how it is for me! He even apologized for all of those times he teased me about playing hero!" he laughed again, letting go of her and spinning around, his animagus forms wings sprouting out of his back and his skin turning black and scaly.

Ginevra flinched a little. That his form was a dragon still unnerved her somewhat, as did his continued use of parceltongue. "Harry, you're losing control of your dragon again."

He paused and looked at himself before scratching the back of his scaled neck sheepishly and returning to normal. "He introduce me to her, you know." He said suddenly.

Ginny froze, her blood flashing cold and hot quickly. "Introduced you to who?" she asked sweetly.

"The Dragon queen!" Harry crowed, sweeping forward to kiss her. "On that world dragons are much more civilized than here. Probably more intelligent to, not that dragons here aren't, but most here are barbarians, rude as they come and with little education beyond speech, which they don't often use, and whatever their flight leaders deem they need to know. The ones at the preserves are better, but in Azeroth they've got whole societies, perform magic and play politics with humans! I can't wait to go there!"

"Wait," Ginevra hissed "_go there?_"

"Yeah," her husband replied, nonplussed "why not? When George gets back with Sirius there's going to be a proper connection between the two worlds. It shouldn't be too difficult to negotiated passage a semi regular basis."

"What is wrong with you?!" she cried exasperated. "Why can't you just leave well enough alone? Settle down, enjoy what you've won? Why must you always go off on the next great adventure and leave us behind? Leave me behind? Is it really that much to ask?"

The emerald eyed wizards slumped and stared at her deadpanned, making Ginny shift uncomfortably despite being the one in the right. "This…" he said flatly. "This, again… Morgana's tits, woman! Have you ever thought that perhaps I don' see it as leaving you behind? I've spent the last two decades saving the world and you still have to ask? I. Love. The. Kids. I'd do anything for them, I've even dropped world ending stuff because one of the mirrored me about a nightmare or blatantly minor injury. I still love you, though only merlin knows why. But fighting for others, solving problems of might and magic, that's all I know, all I've ever been good at. You continue to ask why me, but all I've ever asked is, if not me, then who? The worlds always trying to tear itself apart and I've got a talent for stopping it. Ah pants, why am I still explaining this? You never listen. Never have."

"But I do listen…" She whispered as he walked off, magic bristling around him. And indeed she did, she simply didn't understand. He'd already given his life for the wizarding world, twice if not more. It had been what made her love him in the first place. She shook her head and headed for the master bath, sniffling. She needed a long soak to clear her head. Maybe then she could figure out why everyone was being so mean to her.

~! #$%^&*()_+

Sirius used a small mote of magic to turn the page of one of Jaina's tomes, still in dog form. He stayed this way most days now, having almost been incinerated by the spunky blond archmage on more than one occasion when she'd caught her looking through her library as a human. He'd finally managed to pull off a proper Azerothian portal spell two years ago, but research on the nether and interplanetary portal craft were still disgustingly rare and he'd had to go through thousands of books to find what little he had so far.

Fact one: The twisting nether, otherwise known as the Ginnungagap, was a parallel dimension that existed simultaneously in the same and yet somehow separate space to that of the mortal plane.

Fact two: The nether was both the source and reservoir of all magic everywhere of any type ever. This massive amalgamation of energies was the reason it was such a chaotic and dangerous place. Sort of like when Narcissa deigned to enter a kitchen.

Fact three: Anyone who had the potential to access magic in any form possessed a 'genetic mutation', or as normal people referred to it, a blood affinity, that allowed them to tune their bodies to act as channels for this energy.

Fact four: The Ginnungagap, despite not being a material plane, had six primary denizens.  
The void, creatures made of the energy of the dying from across the galaxy and, curiously enough, the dark space between stars. Sirius couldn't fathom why the two used the same energy, but one sorcerer a few thousand years back had theorized that it had to do with how the energy was negatively charged whereas everything else was positively charged to one degree or another. To Sirius that sounded as if they were talking about electricity rather than magic, but who was he to argue?  
The second type of creature was the Ethereal race, which was actually dozens of races. The Ethereals were formerly material races who, by gluttony, accident or attack, had absorbed so much magic that their physical form had shattered and they were forced to exist within the twisting warp rather than physical reality.  
Next there were the Titans, ancient beings of living magic so thick ad potent it created a physical presence within the void and manifested as metal on the mortal plane. They embodied various concepts from which they used their fathomless power. Together they moved among the stars creating things and taming chaos with order. Little else was known about them beyond their enemies, the fourth denizens of the plane.  
This fourth type also embodied concepts, though they were destroyers rather than creators and were known simply as the old ones. They existed only to corrupt and consume, and fought a constant war with the Titans, planet to planet. A few books held rumors that an old god had been imprisoned on Azeroth, but they rarely held any more concrete references.  
Next there were the Naru, beings of 'pure light'. Held in pseudo-deific acclaim by the mortal races of Azeroth they guided priests and paladins to heal and to save, making them stronger, faster and more durable than those who did not pray to them regularly. Sirius had been rather derisive of this distinction many times as both a dog and a man because not only did it sound disturbingly like the Jedi Lily had shown him one year in a muggle cinema, the Naru didn't guide their disciples to be particularly intelligent. Most in fact were stupid prejudicial bullies with massive superiority complexes and not enough skill to back it up.  
Regardless, that brought him to the final group. The burning legion. The group the prophet had sent his… heh… master… running from. The legion was actually an amalgam of literally uncountable races, corrupted first by the old ones and then later by the legion itself and held the high distinction of being the only material group to survive prolonged contact with the twisting nether.

Sirius paused in his contemplations as he turned another page with a claw and continued reading. It seemed as if there should have been another group in there as so much of the universe worked on prime numbers like seven and thirteen, but he'd never found any reference of them. …balls, most of what he had found was actually in tomes of restricted knowledge researched by what this world referred to as warlocks, people who willingly traded with the void and burning legion as one would haggle with a goblin.

The tent flap rustled and Sirius quickly closed the book, turning around to see Jaina entering, done with her meeting.

"Hey, grim." She said, smiling softly. "Learn any new tricks today?" she asked, summoning the book he had just closed, causing him to put his head between his paws and whine. Jaina laughed. "Some of the things you get into Grim, I'd almost think you were human. You aren't are you? Some poor mage who got caught in an altered polymorph they couldn't throw off?"

Sirius barked and the willowy sorceress scratched his head. Ooh, ooh, ooooooh… she knew just where to rub.

"Well, we're about to reach the mountains boy, going to be using the earthflow enchantment to slap together a base or two and prepare to hold out against the prophets Demons. Seems a good place to do it too; though the Harpies are making things difficult. Perhaps you'd like to help with that, boy? Huh?" she rubbed his bearlike shoulders with her small deceptively strong hands. Sirius shrugged; _what could it hurt?_ He thought as he lowered his front legs so she could climb on. Once she was on he bounded out of the greatly enlarged interior of the tent and followed her directions to the enclosed bowl shaped valley where the Harpies were.

As they reached the mouth of the wooded basin Sirius slowed to a trot rather than stop immediately so that his rider would not fall off. Looking down on the vale it was a battle ground. Hundreds of birdwomen were locked in aerial dogfights with griffon riders and strange bat looking creatures. Flashes of light streaked back and forth as dwarven storm hammers traded blows with Harpies ball lightning. Here and there riders would be unseated by blasts of wind. Many of them were lucky enough to be caught by their own well trained mounts or flightmates, but not all. Catching sight of one particular dwarf Sirius leapt forward, apparating with Jaina just under the muscle heavy tank of a man before warping away to the other side of the valley where he landed on creaky knees.

Jaina jumped off and gave him a shooing motion. "Go get em boy." She said as arcane energy began to collect around her hands and the rescued dwarf pulled out a whistle. Sirius gave her a bark and disappeared again with a _**bampf**_! of displace air and feathers. Sirius ripped out the bird woman's neck and apparated back to the ground to search out another target. His next jump missed the dwarf he'd been aiming to catch so he let out a bark and summoned the two of them together before returning to the ground. Things continued in this manner until the birdwomen were in retreat.

Sirius watched in awe as he found the reason for the sudden break in hostilities. Jaina. The little slip of a 20 something had let loose a barrage of violet streamers that were piercing large sections of the flock while weaving around the strange chimera like flyers, griffons and their dwarven riders. It was a violent and awe inspiring display of power and skill and he had little doubt a casting like that would leave his girl weak at the knees. A determined scowl crossed his canine features and he ported over to where he'd seen the light, bounding up to catch her as she fell, exhausted, to the floor.

_I've got you_. He sent calmingly, putting his neck under her arm.

"Arthas?" she asked, drunkenly. Sirius growled. "No, y-you're na Arthas, hic!" she stuttered, still punch drunk on the sheer power she'd channeled in a single moment. "H-he's dead-d. …sort of… oooh, colors!" She was woozy the animagus noted, but woozy was better than unconscious or dead as happened with some mages who overextended themselves. A bit of mage wine, a bite to eat and she'd be fine. He was about to side-along back with her when there was a great screech and what looked like an organized wing squadron of lions with bat wings and scorpion stingers for tails landed in front of them, bowing. "ooh! Pretty kitty…"

Sirius considered for a moment before casting legillimancy on them. They'd come down in a flight rather than boxing them in so they weren't here to fight and their vaguely orderly pattern and bowing suggested at least some modicum of intelligence, like with the hippogriffs back home. He'd had a few interesting conversations with Griffon mounts before, maybe he would again? *Hello* he sent.

*Dog can talk?* sent back the leader, as it stepped forward. *talking dog, talk to wingless harpy. Pridewing thank, wingless harpy save many. Harpies steal pridewing cubs, hurt pridewing flight, force build nest, force hunt, steal food. Pridewing offer wingless harpy and talking dog guide. Pridewing life debt.*

Sirius nodded slowly and the 'pridewings', thinking he was bowing, bowed back. It made sense. They did indeed have a similar rudimentary intelligence as many of the other magical beasts he had met over his lifetime. The question would be how to explain it to Jaina though… learning that your dog can do magic tricks is one thing, knowing that it likes looking at your books is another, but learning that it can straight up hold a conversation with you… yeah, that's going to raise questions… Damn, how'd he get into this mess? Why the hell didn't he just introduce himself as a human seven years ago?

Skillful fingers worked themselves into his fur and he groaned, panting happily. Oh yeah, that was why… that and the free food and library access. He'd only come into this world with a dozen galleons. Practically pocket change when weighed against the books and materials he needed. *Come to bird rider and wingless harpy camp at the end of the vale* Sirius returned. *Fly slow and in formation. I'll warn them of your coming and ask that they be friendly.* Sirius didn't know of any sort of beast mages in jaina's camp or in Dalaran for that matter aside from researchers who performed chimera experiments so he'd have to do this. He wondered briefly what would have happened if he hadn't been here to act as a go between…

~! #$%^&*()_+

George hummed a discordant tune to himself as he walked through hallways of his own design, calmly transfiguring the stone under belly of the city into large scale housing and dining areas. He'd taken the concept from this muggle apartment tower he'd investigated once, trying to determine if it would be a good place to house his ever growing staff of artifacers and administrative…minions for the Wheezes. Stone flowed, bulged and twisted itself under his will and his wand as he moved along the newly forming corridor, keeping count of his steps and rooms. Each room had a ten by ten open space he intended to add either beds or cushioning runes to, a five by five walk in closet complete with hangers and rods and a bathroom area. He wasn't entirely sure when he'd have the time to do it, but he intended to enchant each of the toilets to vanish their contents and the shower/baths (merlin he loved muggles, such ingenuity) to summon water at the tapps and vanish it in the drain. It would take a few weeks to complete himself, but there were already a few local mages dissecting the first room he had enchanted but until he could get a large enough group working with him the teeming masses of refugees were largely doing their business in the canals.

George shuddered. This city would have quickly become hell if he hadn't set up a series of water purifying charms the first time he'd caught people doing that.

Food was becoming a problem though. They were almost to Quel'thalas, finally, but as they had moved deeper into eastern Lorderan the local plants and animals had quickly become unusable by anyone but him and his wand, something the wizards were loathe to rely on. Right now the city was surviving on magically conjured restorative food but long term that was likely to lead to the addiction the elves seemed to be suffering from. Something needed to be done, and quickly. As had become his custom over the years when faced with an odd problem he couldn't come up with a quick and funny answer to George called Hermione.

The bushy brunette had offered two choice paths, one magical, one muggle. The magical stopgap was of course to transfigure existing foods for size and/or multiplication or to place replenishment charms on the bottles or dishes. Since magic was so abundant here in comparison to earth rune sets could be transfigured into the glass or metal containers, activated and then the spells would summon the base elements to re/construct anything that was being served, slaughtered or prepared.

The second option was to transform every two or three levels into a city sized garden using something called 'hydroponics'. Hydroponics, as odd as the word sounded, was the art of constructing rooms to provide water, light and fertilizer to row upon row of plants like a massive charm run greenhouse. Except that the muggle version had no charms forcing them to work on ingenuity, pumping systems and electricity. Yes, electricity, not eckeltricity. For all that his father was a muggle enthusiast he really had no idea what was going on with his chosen fad and was too patronizing to care, seeing everything like a child would a museum piece or zoo animal.

For all of the muggles genius however, he and Hermione had already found a dozen ways for the system to be improved through the proper application of magic. Hydroponics relied on a flow of nutrient rich water and what are referred to as grow lights. The lights could easily be replaced by a simple lumos helia charm which offers an origin-less light field of all wavelengths of the sun while the water reservoirs can be constantly refilled by and endless cask charm. The endless cask charm also takes care of the need for a pump to send the water through the system, as it could work with the vanishing charm on the end to create its own pressure. Transfiguration means that reshaping equipment to meet any space or system requirements is a simple as waving a wand and Neville actually had some spells to make plants capable of growing on magic alone in the absence of nutrients or water.

There are of course perks and downsides to every endeavor. For one thing, being a new type of magic user in a city full of magic using pseudo-Hermione's everything he said, did or cast is ravenously watched by at least a hundred slavering mages, looking for a way to extend their own libraries of knowledge and spell craft. As much as he was learning and solving problems here so were many of them. Right now for instance Georges skin prickled with the scrying charms of roughly sixty arch-mages and there were another dozen or so examining the charm work he'd layered into the first few rooms and working on copying and or improving his wanded spells. The perks were A) that he was helping people and B) it made it easy to mess with them being as they were so eager to copy his work, regardless the function. The downside was that the constant accolades and attention didn't stop, even when using the facilities or trying to sleep. They also, weren't paying him, insisting that answering his questions and tutoring him in their various arts was far more valuable than any gold he might be offered in exchange.

Then again, who was he to say it wasn't? They used magic without the necessity of wands or other instruments, any one of them could give Merlin a run for his money in terms of power because they drew on sources beyond their own cores, a feat that was legendary in and of itself on earth, and while their enchanting was, by in large, limited to physical enhancement bar few exception, physical enhancement was one of the most difficult parts of the field where George was from. His talks with each and every mage thus far had had his mind exploding with possibilities for pranks, products and general advancement of wizarding kind in general. The biggest advantage wizards had in his world over Azeroth was subtlety and versatility. Wards for example, in keeping with the war hammer versus rapier analogy protective wards here consisted of great walls of energy that could physically hold against or swat aside lesser gods but were poorly focused enough that Georges own very limited knowledge of curse breaking could allow him to pass through them easily where on the other side of the coin the subtle power of wizarding wards could never stand up to said super powerful entities, but would hardly need to as a fidelius or even notice-me-not could turn them away.

Speaking of… George threw up a notice-me-not charm, one of the simplest protection wards any wizard was taught, and consequentially both the most useful and most ignored. The notice me-not-charm was simple in its purpose, casting and construction, it created a field around the caster that causes literally anything to simply… slip right by. Try to look at a charmed space or area your sight just slides over it, to the left, to the right, above or below, even magical forms of detection; as such George found himself amused as his watchers suddenly found themselves watching an inexplicably blank spot just to the right of where he was as the redhead moved off. He had a call to make, and unlike talking with Harry, talking with his wife was something private and not to be so simply interrupted.

~! #$^&*()_+

Thrall sat on his frostwolf, crossed elbows on the creatures head as he leaned forward, considering. The Harpy queen his wolf was tearing into had been running from something. According to bane they did not normally leave their Cliffside and treetop nests in the mountains of stone talon. It could not be the centaur, their bows were of poor construction and little match for the harpies magic, nor would the elemental lizards with their thunderous charges and wide bone spikes. Ah, well, he'd learn soon enough. Cairne had as much as told him the Oracle would be found in those mountains, though they'd yet to quite reach the divide to mulgore.

"Warchief!" Thrall looked up to see one of his scouts running full tilt towards the column of orcs, trolls and tauren. "The centaurs are one the warpath! Two herds approach from either side of the passage to Mulgore!"

Apparently hearing the report the elderly tauren chieftain stepped forward. "Speak quickly orc, where did your brethren see the marauders?" he rumbled.

"The horsemen ride through the valleys before us, chieftain!" The scout replied looking slightly disgruntled at being ordered around by an ally when his own warcheif was right there. "At their current speed they'll overtake us before we can make the pass." He turned to say something to thrall, but Cairne laughed.

"Praise the earthmother and let our enemies feel her fury!" The tauren bellowed, and began stamping on the ground rhythmically with one foot. Thrall nodded in understanding and appreciation as he felt he old bull calling to the spirits of the earth and convincing them to dance with him. It was an interesting tactic to be certain ad one he would be sure to try later as it seemed noticeably faster than his usual style of negotiations. Asking the spirits of the wind and sky for the gift of sight Thrall watched the Centaur as they were crushed beneath the cascading rocks dancing to his ally's call.

As the caravan rode up and over the ridge to see Mulgore spread out below them Thrall placed his hand on the small of the chieftains back, the easiest place he could reach. "It is time, friend, to tell me about this oracle."

~! #$%^&*()_+

Arthas stood by and snarled as he watched Nathreziem dreadlords flit out of the portal one by one and possess his cultists, twisting their bodies in to the forms he was familiar with before adding their skill and power to the now rapidly expanding vortex. Oh, how he longed to sink Frostmorne into their vampyric hearts and allow the blade to consume them. But his master held him back. Not yet, the voice whispered, not yet… they still had a purpose to fulfill, he could rape their blighted souls later. And so he watched. And as he did so the lieutenants of the legion began to emerge through the gap. Manaroth the destroyer, Hakkar the hound master, Xander Lord of Saytr's and many, many others. As the procession of twisted, horrible and often colossal races of the burning legion left the portal and joined the ranks of spell casters working to widen the thing Arthas quietly contemplated the swirling sickly energies and twisted form of each creature. Allies or not it wouldn't do to be unaware of how to defeat them should the need arise.

As dusk settled upon the land Arthas shouldered his way over to Tichondrius and placed the tip of Frostmorne against the right side of his jaw, the blade across the Nathreziem's throat. "How long until Lord Archimonde arrives, wretch?" he sneered.

"Be careful, mortal," the horned creature hissed tensely "one in your position would do well to know their place, lest he be crushed beneath the legions boot."

Arthas pulled back his sword a few centimeters, drawing a small bit of green-black blood from the dreadlords throat and allowing the magic of the blade to scar the spectral creature's soul slightly. "Let us not confuse ourselves, demon. I slaughtered half a dozen of your brothers wielding this selfsame sword, funny though; I don't see them here with you." The former prince of Lorderan smiled more widely as the dreadlords most recent meat suit paled visibly. "Answer the question."

"At the current rate of exponential growth..." one of the giant dragon like creatures rumbled out, his voice like granite dragging across glass, "the lords, Archimonde and Kiljaden shall arrive here midmorning tomorrow." The creature's fiery fel green maw and eyes grated audibly as it turned from its casting to regard him. "Your master is most impressive to have built a portal in a day through which our lord could nearly have manifested through. Your race will be a most excellent addition to the legion, dead knight."

The Lich Kings greatest lieutenant nodded and bowed slightly to the pitlord before turning his back contemptuously towards the Nathreziem leader. Keep your enemies close, keep your allies closer.

~! #$%^&*()_+

Krasus watched in disgust as his fellow council members tried to keep things civil between them and High General Othmar Garithos, Lord of Blackwood. Foolish sniveling xenophobic human was refusing to allow Dalaran to evacuate the civilian women, children or militia under his control and tension were building. Should any of these people survive it would be a significant blow to the mage cities already tenuous relation with the rest of humanity to simply leave them to the mercies of the scourge, the demons and their own commander, but to assault a recognized lord and apparent savior of this sector… They couldn't afford the riots either option would likely bring.

Krasus wondered briefly what the enigmatic George Weasley might do in a situation like this, but shook it off. He had more important matters to worry about.

Excusing himself and his queen from the proceedings the elder dragon mage stepped off into a side chamber and began carving a portal into the nearby air. "My Consort, I was under the impression that this meeting had numerous disastrous potentials and delicate few positive outcomes, wouldn't it be prudent to stay?"

"Perhaps, My Light, but I sadly do not possess your patience or deft, loving touch. The rivers of time shift quickly now though, and the demons gather. They have been denied Dalaran by the Weasley and will with little doubt charge straight for two such closely grouped prizes. If that occurs they will trample straight over one of my better crafted deceptions." He paused in his casting and looked at her with a sort of pleading in his eyes. "Even if my little girl would be useless to the demons, they would doubtless recognize her and have pawns who could make terrible use of her power. Please understand, My Heart, I cannot allow time to flow over her in this way."

Alexstraza, Lifebinder, Heart and Queen of the dragon flights looked into the lesser dragons eyes with a compassion few others could managed. "Alright, Korilistraz, take me to your daughter. I'm most interested to meet this mystery child of yours."

A speck of mirth and worry crept into his gaze as he nodded and spoke the final word of his translocation spell and pushed the air open as one would a door. Alexstraza nodded ad preceded him through the gateway which closed behind the pair of them. On the other side of the portal was a large forest clearing in the middle of a large valley. He grass was green, the trees lush and flowers in bloom. "We're currently in southern Quel'thalas, a mere hundred miles from where Dalaran Idles, but I've enchanted this valley's position to be variable as needs must. As I'm sure you remember from the last great war, the demons are sensitive to the magic of the flights." Krasus explained as he shed his mortal form for his original draconic bulk.

"Not being a member of the bronze flight my abilities to view the future are limited at the best of times, love, but when I crafted this place… well, I was in a rather unique position to put it lightly. This glade was to survive the legions ravaging of Quel'Thalas and Lorderan in large part because Archimonde and his bound servitors would charge straight for Kalemdor and your pet Keldori's tree, Nordrasil. Now that time flows differently… I'm not sure what Nozdormu sought to warm me about any more, but should the Legion find my little Anveena…" Korilistraz wings shifted uncomfortably as the massive pair of dragons slowly stalked around the clearing, coming around a bend to see a small pond and a cottage beside it.

"Anveena, dear?" Alexstraza asked, wanting to know as much about the creature her lover regarded as a daughter as possible.

"Yes," the smaller red replied. "I'm not sure how much you paid attention to my many projects during your convalescence, but about a little under a half a year ago Prince Arthas Menethil managed to successfully assault the high elves sunwell."

"Indeed," his mistress replied, a dark humor in her voice "you were quite frantic that day."

"Yes, well, when three forces even you would struggle to trust fight over a fragment of the Well of Eternity…" the ancient dragon chuckled deeply as the door of the cottage opened and three humans walked out, smiling brightly. There was a man and two women, one a slightly plump present woman with a cheery smile rosy cheeks and dirty blond hair tied back under a scarf. She had a double chin and her eyes were seemed to be permanently almost closed, though it gave her a more cheerful demeanor rather than appearing creepy. The three of them wore vests over simple shirts, though the man wore pants and a thin hide belt compared to the women's wide cloth belts and skirts. The man, the father Alexstraza assumed, was a hulking bear of a man with a flat, jovial face, wide nose and full, short beard and pipe. Then finally was the girl, Anveena. The girl had a heart shaped face that the dragon queen had seen on many who were called beauties in their villages over the years, with long wavy, almost curly, golden hair, large crystal blue eyes, and a small upturned nose, her mouth set in a happy guileless smile.

"I'd been tracking Arthas progress for quite some time and interfered where I could, but I'm only one drake and have striven to take on far too many duties and causes. Only in single events can I truly make a difference. When Dar'khan, Arthas and the elven magesters began fighting over the well I stepped in and… tweaked things a little. She's the result."

"Bor-El!" Called the eldest of the trio of humans, the muscle bound male. "I had not expected a visit from you so soon, is something wrong?"

"Bor-El?" Alexstraza commented, amused "Just how many identities do you have, dear Consort?" Alexstraza rumbled, her form glowing with power as the pair of them shrunk down to their humanoid guises.

"Many" he replied with a smile as their transformations finished. "These two as well, are extensions of myself" he continued, gesturing at the cheerily smiling man and woman. "Homunculus created to care for Anveena as a parent should."

Korilistraz cringed as he saw Anveena flinch in the back ground. "Mother… father… is this true? A-are you…"

The three of them looked at each other. "Oh dear." The great dragon mage muttered. This wasn't exactly what he had planned; the girl possessed the power to warp reality to her will, perhaps he should have explained this to his wife before they'd properly arrived?

"Don't worry, dear…" the smiling peasant woman said kindly, turning to her erstwhile daughter "whatever we may or may not be, we truly love you, and that's all that really matters."

The girl, Anveena however looked as if she was struggling to maintain her composure, which was understandable really; her world was falling apart after all. "But if you're not my parents… then who?"

"You are my blood, child." Korilistraz said in his best comforting tone.

Then Alexstraza understood. "Korilisraz, you didn't!"

"I'm afraid so, My Light. When the when the Sunwell seemed ready to destroy itself under the pressure of the competing forces and the corruption of the ritual empowerment and resurrection of my old College Kel'thusald I stepped in and pushed it over the edge. The Sunwell ruptured and destroyed much of the island, but instead of releasing its limitless power upon the world, destroying it utterly, I used my own blood to wrap its essence in an illusion, that of a simple, genuine, innocent. I had intended only to protect, but in crafting my perfect vessel it became something… more. Some_**one**_… more." He turned to the elven form of the red aspect and clutched her hands in his. "Please Alexstraza, my love, give her your blessing. Punish me for playing god if you must, but I gave her consciousness, she gave herself a body, please, let her _truly _live."

The great dragon queen looked between her lover, her sole remaining consort, and his… creation. Letting go of his hands she walked toward the girl, who stepped back uncertainly, tears falling from her eyes even as her formed began to glow slightly and her 'parents' stepped aside. With all the grace of a prowling tiger and the air of a judge she slowly circled the poor miserable girl. Alexstraza, aspect of life opened her senses fully as she observed the four entities who she was judging. Now that she looked she could indeed tell that they were wrong. What little life the two homunculi had traced itself easily back to her consort, but it was simple to tell that they weren't really alive, just toys for her lovers amusement, bound to obey and feel as he had created them to. They were not all that uncommon, after all, the elves and humans made such things all the time out of metal and creatures, though their arcane intelligences were far cruder than what she was seeing here. Anveena however, Alexstraza could see the pure, raw power of the sunwell, and the basic form of the entity that was forming beneath the illusion. It was a mix of the purest arcane and holy energies, swirling and mixing together in a tight, chaotic dance, potent enough that it could have been solid in its own right without her mate's magic binding it to a form. She could see it though… the entity was not a soul, the body only alive by a technicality….

"What is her nature, love? For the compassion and depth of feeling you have shown thus far, she must have been something quite inspiring beyond what you had intended." The humanoid red aspect said, as she continued to prowl around her target. "Surely you've been keeping a close eye on her, even visiting? You do often for many of your pet projects…"

"Of course, my life, I crafted her initially from my memories of my time among and, on rare occasion, as a human woman." The broodmother raised a brow and her lover blushed faintly before continuing. "I gave her memories and traits of the best I've ever befriended among her race; kindness, loyalty, a drive towards charity, tolerance, curiosity… she's a little naïve perhaps and markedly headstrong, but then many of the best mortal women I've known were. Among humans the ability to stand forward and insist on something they're passionate about is what separated many I favored over those whom were merely the rank and file. Like the sunwell she comes from her dream, her overriding goal is to guide and to guard, to heal and to save. Unfortunately I wasn't able to give her much a sense of humor, but the entity beneath my illusion has and still is filling in many details my spells could not. If given more time, I'm confident she could become a full person I her own right, though, perhaps never truly alive."

Stopping her circling the red queen gently took the trembling girls chin in hand and wiped away a stream of tears. "Don't cry dear." The aspect of life murmured comfortingly. "This must be hard for you, I know it can't be easy to think that everything you are is a lie, but if you look inside yourself you will see that that isn't true." She forced the girls chin up slightly to look into her eyes and saw the spark of pain and defiance there. She smiled softly and wiped away some more tears. "As your father, well, mother really, said, as much as he made you, so you have grown on your own. I can see it in your mind. There is more life there than there is magic. The choice though, should be yours. I can make your form real, turn the entity that dives you, the avatar of the sunwell, into a true soul; but you must choose that yourself. With the power you wield, it is unlikely you will ever truly age or die. Immortality is a lonely burden, something we dragons know well. Is this what you want?"

"Wh-what w-will happen to m-my parents?" the girl choked out, her tears slowing some.

Sensing that things were perhaps going well, Korilistraz rose from his kneeling position and stepped forward. "Like parents their only role is to protect you until you are ready, though ready for what is no longer so clear… Regardless, unless you decide otherwise I would let them stay with you, though your life will no longer be as simple as it once was, child." He suddenly paused, looking at the pair of homunculi speculatively. "Though with the increase in activity around you, perhaps I should improve them… weapons skill? Magic perhaps? But drawn from myself or her… hmm."

"Why not both?" Alexsraza spoke, voice off hand. "Avatar of the sunwell, or young girl, she will be long in gaining control of such terrible power. Having your tools as multitalented and capable guardians would serve her as well as remaining her parents now." She stiffened and looked sharply at the girl, who still glowed faintly. No doubt it would have been far brighter had it been night rather than early midday. Anveena's form rippled slightly, and though it took several seconds for her to tell what had changed about the girl. Her ears had lengthened to points, not near so long as that of an elf's, but more like that of a half-bloods. Perhaps she was accepting Korilistraz as a parent? Her form flickered again, becoming deeply draconic before returning to her previous form, though still with the pointed ears. Looking at Anveena again with her talents as the avatar of life Alexstraza was stunned to see that the girl now read as a female red, transformed into half-elven form alongside her unsettling not life. Independent growth indeed…

"I… I accept your blessing, Bor-El, l-lady Alexstraza, but please, whatever you do to my parents, let… let them remain the people I know and love."

Alexstraza smiled.

~! #$%^&*()_+

Back in Dalaran the negotiations between the magocrats and Garithos Lord or Blackwood had devolved into a shouting match. Or perhaps more accurately, the council and their higher level lords and allies were shouting at Garithos who was screaming obscenities about the high elves, blaming them for the near loss of the second war and apparent loss of this one.

George was not amused.

Normally, this would be a perfect opportunity to step in and cause a little chaos, but they were mere hours from Quel'Thalas and the fat little man was keeping Dalaran from moving on and that was keeping him from rescuing Sirius, which in turn was chaffing at the Oath he'd sworn. Having your own magic going pins and needles on you was **not** fun. …or maybe that was the point? Grinning again, George rummaged in his bag. While not containing much in the way of useful items when he left, he never really went anywhere these days without a small supply of confounding candies, magical pranks or wonder products in case he found some reason to do a little business and had used it to fair effect so far.

Conjuring an ornate tin tray and cup of Iron pyrite, because gold and silver just cost too much magic even for a temporary mana mimic, George placed a compulsion on the cup and crushed a muggle dumb-dumb into it before conjuring and heating some water and stirring the mixture up. Transfiguring his cloths into a fairly convincing servants garb he started forward, sighing in relief as his magic stopped bothering him to **do **_something_. A quick notice-me-not and he was wending his way through the gathered throng to the utterly stupid muggle. Back home this would have been called muggle bating and could potentially land him a month in Azkaban, if he A) got caught and B) didn't just bribe the arresting Auror, but he'd done it to Dudley for far less reason.

Stepping up to the High lord and touching his shoulder, George offered forth the try and cup. "A refreshment, perhaps, milord? These negotiations must be tough on that voice of yours; a spot of wine would do you wonders." Garithos alcoholism and the compulsion did the rest.

"Thank you, lad!" the fat lord general blustered, snatching the cup from the tray. "At least someone in this elf cursed city knows how to treat a visiting dignitary!" he slung a final insult before downing the cup in one swift chug. George smiled.

Canceling the conjuration holding the facsimile of 'gold' goblet and 'silver' plate and transfiguring his cloths George gave a jaunty wave to the magocrats and steered the High Lord General of the burgeoning New Alliance back through the portal and into his camp. The man was staring blankly ahead and drooling slightly so George hit the fat man with another few compulsions befor ordering him to summon his entire camp to gather below his terrace.

It took a relatively short time to gather everyone who was not on guard or patrol and send out riders for those who were. "Good people of northwatch camp!" Garithos bellowed out, his voice only slightly slurred. "There is no need to be alarmed by the unnatural rock floating over our base! The Mage city of Dalaran has left its roots and taken to the skies to escape the scourge and offers a place of shelter and dubious safety!" George frowned and hit Othmar Garithos with another compulsion or three. Unless he was willing to use an unforgivable he supposed he couldn't really do more to direct the man, but so long as this was finished quickly one way or the other he didn't much care at the moment.

He glanced back briefly to see several of the magocrats had followed him out of the portal and were watching quietly, stormy expressions on their faces, but not apparently casting or interfering, so he continued. "Any man or woman who wishes to accept the wizards offer shall proceed to gather their personal belongings in an orderly fashion and leave their supplies with those of us who are willing to remain and fight! You will then proceed in a calm and orderly fashion toward my terrace and through the portal, and good riddance to the lot of you!"

"And which path will you be taking!" a warrior from the crowd, wilding a massive hammer called out.

There was a rippling of laughter from the crowd before Garithos replied. "I will be remaining here in command of any soul brave enough to reclaim their homeland from the scourge!"

"And you mages, where do you go?" the man roared.

At this Kael'thas stepped forward, offering George a raised brow before calling out to the crowd below. "The roving kingdom of Dalaran fly's on a mission of relief to the besieged and war against the scourge. Any civilian we find is given food, shelter and safety from the scourge and their demon masters, any able bodied or woman who joins our ranks will join a rotation for portal guardians as we continue to travel the lands of the Alliance gathering support from the remnants of this war torn land. We usually drop a few battle field spells behind us as we go to destroy any remaining scourge or demonic presence as we pass, but if there are those who wish to stay, we shall endeavor to be more careful."

"Well, I know where I'm going!" the same Warrior roared. "For Freedom and fury, I fight for Dalaran! May Garithos rot beneath his mad tactics! Who's with me?" There was a great roar from the crowd and people began scattering across the encampment. By the time everyone was done reorganizing, packing and deciding who would and wouldn't go, Dalaran had a new compliment of Dwarven and Gnomish engineers, Thalasian rangers and mages and the vast majority of the civilians trooping through the Portal. There were quite a number of people who stepped up to the Dalarani group and offered their services with a demand of training before they joined the exodus, but that was all.

In the end Garithos was left with seven hundred men at arms, a hundred knights, most of his 200 priests and paladins of the holy light, and a small compliment of elven rangers. The elves who stayed asked to be left with a portal stone just in case. As a gesture of good faith a few Dalarani magisters stepped forward to cast a Earthflow spell on the camp, turning the surrounding area into a properly fortified castle with walls and battlements for those foolish enough to stay. It wasn't much, but it was better than the wooden pickets and earthworks of the previous camp.

Business concluded, the portal closed behind George and the redheaded wizard cut off his compulsion charms. The dawning look of comprehension and horror on the pudgy aristocrats face was priceless. Unfortunately not all was well. The owner of Weasleys wizarding wheezes turned away from the portal to find himself surrounded by a dozen mages from the ruling classes of Dalaran, including those council members who were not Krasus, ie, Modera Manathistle, Henry Drenden, Ansirem Runeweaver, Kael'thas Sunstrider and the newly appointed Aethas Sunreaver.

"That was risky, arch-mage Weasley." Drenden growled before the redhead could speak.

"It sets a dangerous precedent." Kael'thas agreed, nodding gravely. "And one Dalaran can ill afford."

Modera frowned down at him. "We're excusing it this time because of the circumstances, Mr. Weasley, but there is a very good reason possession and control magics are looked down upon outside of battle situations. You need to be more careful in your application."

Runeweaver nodded, tapping his staff heavily against the ground as he leaned forward to look George in the eye. "Indeed. Dalaran has always held a fairly precarious position politically, becoming firmer during wars and weaker during peacetimes, and this… spells that subvert another's will are charged similarly to rape cases. Admissible in battle or times of war, but looked down upon even then. Even whispers of such magic give Dalaran a black eye. Put in a position of offering relief to the rest of the alliance as we have, we find ourselves greatly outnumbered by peasents and mundane warriors. A riot could destroy us and doom everyone in the city."

"What exactly did you do to him anyways?" asked the new elf, Aethas, curiously. The rest of the ruling mages glared at the man, but he shrugged his shoulders and spoke flippantly. "What? You can't claim you aren't curious… We all watch his wanded magics like starved Jumajuice addicts. He didn't use his wand for most of this and I want to know what he _did_ do."

"Dumdum's." George replied, pulling out one of the muggle suckers. "It's pure concentrated sugar crystal enchanted like you would any regular focusing gem, except that I placed a cofounding curse on them." He explained with a shrug. "I sell them in my store as prank items. Get one of your friends to suck on one of these little beauties and turn them loose. Makes great blackmail material letting them act like complete idiots for an hour or so. It also makes the sucker likely to try anything you tell him to while his head's sill ringing. The charms I used on Garithos, lord of blackwood were to help in stand straight, not slur his speech and whisper suggestions into his head without being seen manipulating him. These get around similar laws against compulsion charms back home because there's no more battle of wills than one might have with goading a drunk to do something stupid."

"Besides, from what I could tell we got nearly eighty percent of his forces, it's pretty clear nobody liked him. Why else would they all jump ship the first moment a recognized leader of the alliance steps forward with an offer of sanctuary?"

"Ach, na, I thank aye kin answer tha far ya." Came a voice from near his waist. Everybody looked down to see one of the dwarven engineers that had come through the portal before they had taken off. "Jarl Hruntin Blastwrench, achur service." The dwarf said, bowing. "Aye head up tha arnforge corps o' Engineers sent ta 'elp them prissy elves bu when da sunwell blew it we got snached up by his lordship instead. Righ' buggar 'e is. 'ates anyting dat aint 'uman. Blames em for der bein so many 'uman deaths over tha wars; elves especially. Hates mages too for that ma'er… Still, 'e's only got tha job cause 'e's the highest ranking bupkis ter survive this long. Till yuins tha is!"

"I suppose that's what the warrior meant when he said damn Garithos and his mad tactics them." George muttered looking thoughtful. _Dam Dursley ripoff_. The dwarf however, laughed.

"Tha weren' no warrior, laddie, tha was Arthur Targaryian, the head of Garithos paladins and one o the smartest I err laid eyes on. His daughter's one o dem mages in Dalaran y'know. And he's been friends with a fair few in camp too. It's the damndest thing too," the Jarl said as he walked off "Never me a paladin before Targaryian who'd stand a mage to speak wit im, let alone stand his little girl to become one!"

~! #$%^&*()_+

Jaina Proudmore stared down at her dog, arms folded beneath her breasts, and frowned. "So your name is Lord Sirius Orion Black." The shapeshifter nodded. "And you came here as a casualty of war on another planet," another nod "that just so happens to have humans as well."

"Pretty much, beautiful." Sirius replied smoothly.

Jaina hit him with a concussive wave of violet light. "And you couldn't just come out and tell me that you're a pervy old man?" she asked, a blue glow building behind her eyes.

"Who's perving, lady Proudmore? I never asked to take a bath with you every Tuesday night…" Sirius replied, shielding another blast with a quick wandless protego.

"Why did you stay for seven years as my dog?" she asked, this time with a growl of her own.

"Well, first it was the free food, then you proved yourself to be quite heavenly with your scratching fingers, and of course I'm still in the process of researching a way back home, so the constant library access is appreciated…" the black haired man said flippantly.

"But?" Jaina pressed, grabbing her staff from the wall of the recently made prison cell. "There must have been some special reason you stuck around. You've shown yourself cunning and skilled enough looking back to have had the full run of Dalaran, If it was books you needed, why not just stay there when I went on adventures or when I took my fleet and fled here with as many as would willingly follow me in such short notice?"

"But nothing, really, your blondness. I would have and still intend to leave you as soon as I find a way back to my godson. As for the rest, well, you don't spend seven years with someone without coming to care for them, and for all that you're a pretty bird you're amazingly like him. Besides that, you could use someone to look out for you, Sunstrider would have been a significantly better choice than Menethil, even before our pretty little paladin started shagging corpses in northrend."

Jaina gave him a queasy, disgusted look at that last bit. "Who do you think you are? My father?"

"Oh, certainly not my dear," Sirius said, with a grin similar to Grim's "your father approved of that prissy little xenophobe. Paladin of the light my fuzzy black ass."

Jaina began pacing, her staff scratching across the floor as she tried to hold herself. "He was a good man once." She replied, pain in her voice would have been barely noticeable to anyone who didn't know her well. Sirius wilted, feeling instantly apologetic.

"Perhaps I was a little harsh, Jaina." Sirius allowed quietly. "I still say you should have let me bite him, but what's done is done, it was a low blow to bring him up. I'm sorry."

"So, when are you going to come out of there?" Jaina asked, looking at him, a hint of amusement in her sad eyes now.

Sirius looked around, mockingly and raised his hands. "Out? You've put me in a warded prison cell…"

Lady Proudmore snorted derisively. "Nothing against the magisters on my staff, but you've gotten through tougher spells guarding my diary, Grim. Don't deny it. I know a paw print when I see one! And don't think I'm going to let you get away with that! You're not my dog anymore, buster!"

Sirius shifted into his Barghest animagus form and apparated out of the cell to give his best pleading puppy eyes at her feet. *Aww… please, milady?* he asked, mental voice full of mischief *barking a good spell isn't the only thing this doggy can do…*

Jaina rolled her eyes, but didn't get a chance to say anything as the door to the new prison burst open. "Lady Proudmore!" It was one of the Paladins, JeMeric Meer. Tall, with strawberry blond hair and orange eyes, the young man had been a priest originally and was one of the few Paladins Sirius was willing to give any leeway, having long shown himself to be far more interested in healing people the than any sort of righteousness or discrimination so many human devotees of the light were fond of. He did it because he could and because he enjoyed the feeling it gave him when people looked at him after being healed. It was a bit self-serving perhaps, but it was the kind of human honesty the wizard could get behind.

"What is it, Paladin Meer?" Jaina asked, immediately upright and formal, in her leader of the alliance posture.

"Orcs, Lady, they've followed us!" JeMeric replied, his voice serious as a grave. "It's Blade master Grom and his warsong clan. We've got the valley sealed off so they can't get in and they can't flank us, at least not easily, the geomancers did a good job. But it's…"

"The fact that they're here at all, I know." Jaina replied, cutting him off. "Grim, heel. It seems we face the Hoard."


	6. Riptide

AN: Alright, because I'm tired of explaining myself, some forewarning. If you believe yourself to be a devout Christian, then you are more than likely going to be insulted by this chapter. If you can't deal with reading things that offend you, then you shouldn't be reading fanfiction. If you like my story I would suggest you just gloss over it, it's not a big piece of the story and is very unlikely to come up again. On that note, this piece just wrote itself and is from the point of view of two ethnic groups that were rather violently persecuted both in fiction, nonfiction and fanon, so not only is it going to offer a different perspective on events given the involved fictions, it's practically meant to be inflammatory. Try asking a Jew about the Holocaust sometime, or giving a German the same questions. No matter what way the German swings on the issue of Hitler he's going to down play it, the Jew's going to demonize it and then what really happened is going to be about in the middle. Also please note that the bible was written by human beings and is thus inherently flawed in its authorship and has been edited and retranslated and edited again hundreds of times throughout history.

~! #$%^&*()_+

Slap!

George put a hand to his cheek and fingered the stinging area. "Ok, not quite the welcome I'd expected." The redhead said easily, turning to look at Andrea. "Usually one has to be dating to be treated like this by someone they hardly know." Astromancer Solus's cheeks flushed a slightly darker shade of pink before turning on her heel and trying to stalk off. George was interested now though, he hadn't seen the half-elf woman since he had left mere days after arriving on this world, what could he have done to earn he slap?

"You left me!" she hissed as he teleported in front of her and asked again.

"Again, normally that's something I'd expect from a silted bird," the wizard repeated "not from a girl I'd known only a few days. Is this about the rug or the pranks?"

She looked at him searchingly for several seconds as people passed by them in the street. "You really don't know do you? Come with me." George allowed himself to be dragged off of the main thoroughfare and into a side ally. Andrea pulled out a stone with a large blue rune on it and began chanting before drawing a glittering golden-white finger through the air to form a doorway. After three seconds the glittering line in the air gave an audible crack and the half elf pushed he air aside like it was a doorway. Georges mind whirled with the possibilities as he walked through the arch that was apparently the astromancers tower door.

Portals.

He'd heard a great deal about them since coming here and even seen a pair back on earth, one bound to a stone archway and the other a cabinet but he'd always assumed that they were horribly advanced and complex magic. Obviously there was still going to be a fair amount he was going to have to learn, such as how to enchant one of Andrea's portal stones, what their limitations were, how to direct them… But damn if it wasn't a significantly more comfortable way to travel!

"What do you know about elves?"

George turned to the mage, slightly confused. "On my world or yours?"

"There are elves on your world?" Andrea asked, appearing to forget her ire for a moment in curiosity.

"Yeah, two types mostly, or three really… There's these little gnome like ones that everybody calls elves and then in there's the Alfr; they have a few conclaves on the mainland. They stick to Germany and Scandinavia mostly though the drowolath seem to have spread just about everywhere that has caves. The two races of Alfr are tall and relatively pretty, though not nearly so much as Veela and have short pointy ears like you rather than the elves here. They're adept in their own type of sorcery, which doesn't mesh well with our wanded wizardry, and they draw power from community which is actually a pretty sick joke because they're all fiercely individualistic. Light or dark in creed they can live a good two hundred years on their own, but put them in a city together and they're virtually immortal. Killing them is only as hard as any other magic using race, but time or disease? Becomes less of a problem the more of them live in the same area. Though, I can see from your look of fascination that's not at all what you wanted to know." He shifted his features to match hers like a male twin again. "So, what was it you wanted to know? Or wanted me to know… Jelly?" he asked holding out a package of Berybotts Every Flavored Beans.

Andrea looked between George and the bag in his hand expression flowing between excited, curious, wary and angry randomly. "What's today's poison, Mr. Weasley? Am I going to be… farting butterflies or something?"

Georges face lit up in a genuine, if mischievous, smile. "You know, that's actually not a bad idea… perhaps tune the hex to transmute the gas on a time delay? Expelling bugs from one's bum could get pretty messy otherwise… Yes… I could see how that would work too, add in a proximity trigger; make sure the victim didn't sit on any of them. Funnier that way and not nearly so messy, though given the situation there's nothing wrong with a good mess. It'd have to make them flatulent too… Thank you, astromancer!" George replied taking her hand and shaking it in both of his. When he pulled away there was a trio of beans I her palm. "I swear on my magic though, I had nothing to do with the making of these jelly's."

She looked at him shrewdly, her mouth twisting cutely in suspicion. "But you didn't say they hadn't been poisoned…" she countered.

George grinned. "No I didn't." he replied. Then after a pause he continued, "they're called Bertybot's Every Flavored Beans. Another joke candy from my world, though, as the name suggests, not made by me. They're not magical in any way save perhaps their method of manufacture. Still the joke is in the label, when the label says every flavor it means EVERY flavor."

Andrea's expression scrunched up in disgust. "Even stuff like grave dirt or puss?"

George laughed. "On the downside, yes. They've also got wine, steak and kidney pie, bananas, toadstool, strawberries."

"And you're trying to distract me." The half-elf girl cut in, shaking her finger and walking over to one of the greek lounge couches.

"Am not," George replied, crossing his arms and looking deliberately childish "I'm being quite the scholarly gentleman and answering the ladies questions!"

The busty elven girl rolled her eyes and flopped down on one of the couches. "How long does a Wizard live, Mr. Weasley? I think a bit of perspective is in order. And normal humans too, you say your people are separated, and somewhat prejudicial. Tell me."

George cocked his head to the side and shrugged. There was hardly any problem telling her. "Well, your typical human can live anywhere from twenty years to a century depending on lifestyle and medical care. Average is about seventy nowadays or so I'm told, but as fast as the muggles have been advancing of late it'll likely be one and a quarter before long. Wizards on the other hand can live a hundred and fifty easy, longer the stronger your magic is. One of my old professors was a hundred and fifty and still running around like he was in his twenties, fighting darklords and leading half of Europe. The headmaster he took over from was nearly to his three hundredth birthday when he turned over the school and stuck around for another fifty or so before he was killed for calling the local dark lord by his first name."

Andrea nodded slowly. "He must have been powerful then, to live more than twice the lifespan of a normal wizard. We have similar occurrences here, but tell me, how do humans and wizards view each other and those who interact? You said there were prejudices."

George grimaced. "Ugh, for that's you'll need a bit of history to really understand it. I hated history in school; the teacher was just that bad. Still, allow yourself to be friends with Hermione Granger for any length of time and you'll learn all sorts of things that beg you dig further." George sighed and took a seat on a stack of books, crossing his arms and leaning his head back to stare absently at the ceiling.

"Ten, maybe twelve thousand years ago our world suffered a cataclysm. Nobody's entirely sure what things were like back then or what happened but we know that one of the kingdoms in that time was the origin of our planets wizards. The place was called Atlantis and the scraps of surviving record and ruin suggest that we had taken magic to a point where we were gods. Humanity lived in relative peace with the other magical races and some even suggest that the reason wizards exist is because the half-blood children of magical creatures and humans interbred to make us in the first place. There is supporting evidence of course, numerous bloodlines still bring magical creatures into their families on occasion to increase the potency of their children's magic, but that's neither here nor there. Something happened and the entire world changed. Asia rotated ninety degrees and moved north, Europe split from Africa, India crashed into what was now southern Asia forming the Himalayan Mountains, the Arabian Peninsula rise from the sea, and Atlantis moved to the South Pole to become a frozen ruin known as Antarctica."

George gave a bitter laugh. "The magical world was in chaos, ruined, we spread to all corners of the earth and rebuilt, taking in with the survivors of the other magical races and building up empires around the governance of mundane humans. For eight to ten thousand years we were an active part of society, culture rose and revolved around our dynasties and fell under religious upheaval of violent barbarians and with every successive generation magic became weaker and weaker. By the time of the Roman Empire two thousand years ago the wizarding population had built itself back up to the populous levels and arcane knowledge of Atlantis but our powers were but a paltry shell of our former selves. The Roman Empire was the last time Humanity and Wizards worked in concert, the beginning of our final chapter."

He snorted. "Look at me, all maudlin. Hah! Anyways, during the golden age of the empire of the Caesars another group of barbarians built themselves a religion, but this time was different, this time they forged themselves around a half-blood bastard, Jesus of Nazareth. The boy was the son of a Sheppard girl and the local dark lord. He raped her, erased her memory of the event and carried on with whatever he was doing. There was a prophesy about the boys birth and it led to a series of misunderstandings where he boy was never brought into the magical community, which was a real pity because he was powerful. Powerful enough to level cities; draw land from the sea and raise the dead; all without a day of formal training… He was a good lad and used his power to move around healing normal humans by the hundreds, vanquishing demons and even took down his father after raising himself from the dead. He had his own followers too, who built the religion around him, calling him the son of a god, much to his discomfort." George laughed again, he knew someone else with a relatively similar story… knew him _very _well in fact.

"The followers spread this religion to the masses, telling them how Jesus had sacrificed himself to save them from the evil wizard and then risen from the grave to ensure that they were safe." He snorted. "After the boy disappeared to live a quiet life with his wife, Marry Magdelin, his disciples continued to spread the religion, like a cancer. Not understanding that their savior was himself a wizard they make the practice of magic a sin in their worldview and would spread quietly from country to country before staging violent ethnic riots with anyone who disagreed with them. Things eventually got to the empire and became so bad that the wizarding community openly split from their non-magical brethren wholesale."

"With our sudden seclusion human society collapsed, the empire fell and the church declared the new state of barbarism the dark ages, a time which for the muggles lasted nearly seven hundred years or more, with the common people living as little more than barbarians. The magical community however was suddenly experiencing a renaissance. No longer burdened with concerns for supporting our citizenry the European wizarding world blossomed! We had always had a significant advantage over our non-magical cousins in medicine, domestic comforts, warfare, travel, everything, but with our sudden freedom we had massive surpluses, invention and innovation was at an all-time high, we were even slowly regaining our magical strength."

George grinned ruefully "It must have seemed wonderful to them," he said looking at the half elf who was sitting forward in rapt attention "but not everything works towards the better. With our first schism magical and muggle began to see the true extent of the divide between themselves for the first time in millennia. We saw how much non-magical society depended on us and how much better magical society was without them and it began to stick in people's minds. Old families began to believe that muggles were dead weight, a rot clinging to the tree of life, weakening us from the inside out. While our races maintained relatively open interaction for another fifteen centuries the distain on our side of the divide and the jealousy, fear and resentment on theirs led to further deterioration over that time. Witch hunts swept Europe, conducted, of course, by the church."

"That sounds like something I've heard off and on that Dalaran is dealing with when interacting with the church of the holy light." Andrea said softly. "Your world sounds like the nightmare of what might have happened had the orcs never come to unite everybody's hate under a different banner."

"Sounds about right," George agreed absently "those paladins… I've seen them fight the scourge and they have a right to be impressed with themselves, but I can see them being a problem like we faced all those years back. Damn prejudicial they are. Anyways, back to my story. The witch hunts. Well, they were a bit of a joke for the first five hundred years, with the power of our magic and the delicacy afforded to us by our wands it was extremely rare that a wizard would ever actually be caught and even rarer that they could kill us. On top of that humanity had become exceedingly stupid and prone to flights of panic under the rule of the church so really it wasn't more than an annoyance to us. A few that actively interacted with the common human called for the wizarding community to put a stop to the witch hunts because more often than not their malleus maleficarum, the witch hunting manual, directed them to killing their own wise men and any woman who showed the slightest bit of spirit or intelligence, but the magical community at large saw it as sport. Many real witches and wizards took to getting themselves caught on purpose simply to bait the church. Then, in sixteen fifty of the roman calendar, things changed."

Georges face turned thunderous. "In the late sixteenth century humanity figured out how to identify our children." He looked at her, a dark light shinig behind the normally jovial pranksters eyes. "Remember when we were playing with transfiguration after if first arrived? I told you we found those worthy to study magic by their ability to do so without wand or training. They figured it out too."

Andrea looked pale. "They killed children?" The orcs did that when they could during the war, but with all of the horrors the two previous wars had offered it was just one among many. Still, infanticide was among one of the more reviled practices of the Hoard and now the Scourge.

"Yeah. Hundreds of thousands of them." Andrea paled again, but George was already continuing. "As you can imagine that caused a panic and in our fury and despair we did something drastic."

"Y-you didn't… kill them all… did you?"

"The ones with blood on their hands? You bet your half-elven ass we did! Their families too, but that's hardly the worst of it, the killing stopped there. No, the international confederation of eldars came together and formed the magical ministries to act as our governments and try to liaise with the muggle governments and then when that didn't work we came out in force to wipe the minds of every non-magical human in the world. Never again, that was the cry that swept the world, driving the final schism… _Never. Again._ Those words are still emblazoned throughout the offices of the entire wizarding worlds Obliviator squads."

He snorted. "Since then we've lost touch with the muggles and their science has really taken off. With humanity no longer searching form magical solutions to their problems they've had to innovate mechanical and chemical solutions to their problems. Due to their sheer population advantage and massive litany of societal problems we wizards largely don't have to deal with their innovation has leapt forward to the point where we've become the ones who are backwards and ignorant. And the human born wizards are noticing that, causing a further, much quieter schism to form in our society now as the old families hold onto their old glories and grudges while the 'muggleborns', our equivalent to your half-elves, continue to push for advancement along muggle lines. It's a mess, but Harry, Hermione and me; we've been fixing things, easing tensions, healing the schism. My status as a pureblood wizard has actually been a great boon in getting people to accept change." He gave her a crooked grin. "A lot more serious than my dream back in school I can tell you. All I wanted to do was open a joke shop, not be the next Nicolas Flamel."

"Nicolas Flamel… I take it he's a great wizarding sage like the council members?"

"Yeah, he was." George nodded. "So, what was it you wanted to tell me about, you seemed pretty mad, my cheeks' still stinging from that slap."

She huffed slightly and looked away. "Yes, well, while your story is one of nightmares past, mine is a living one. We have a similar history here in our fall from grace, but that's largely unimportant to understand why I was angry and hurt by your flight to Stormwind without me." She sighed heavily and lay back on the couch again. "As you know, I'm half elf, half human. I'm not sure if you quite understand my plight, but from the mentions in your story of your longer lived race, differences in power and prejudices I think you may have an idea. When the elves fled our homeland after the great cataclysm ten thousand years ago we settled in the Tirisfal glades at first, but we didn't stay long."

"The humans?" George asked.

"What?" the young mage asked, rolling her head to look at him "No, no, humanity at that point lived largely in Arathor and Alterac, they weren't the problem. There's some sort of evil chained beneath the ley nexus in Tirisfal, it was driving some of our more sensitive mages insane so we continued on. Eventually we came to Quel'Thalas, the sight of another great ley nexus and one not despoiled by anything untoward. There we set up the Sunwell under the nexus itself and bound the waters of the broken well of eternity to the light of the moon and sun gods, Elune and An'she respectively. We'd hoped that by binding the wells energies to the two currently known sources of the holy light we could prevent a repeat of the demon apocalypse that had nearly killed us and driven us from our homes before." She laughed harshly "and it almost worked too, for ten thousand years." She shook her head before continuing.

"After we settled in Quel'Thalas we came into conflict with the forest trolls. Apparently the land, especially the site we'd set up the Sunwell was sacred to them and had been one of the centers of their religion before the demons destroyed much of their race. We tried to work with them, but our stubbornness on both sides caused things to deteriorate quickly. So we set up rune stones to act as wards, both against the legion and more earthbound threats like the trolls. It worked for a few thousand years, but then the trolls had grown enough in population and courage to challenge us. It was like the swarms of scourge that have been ravaging Lorderan of late, we were outnumbered hundreds to one by an enemy who could get up and fight again if you didn't kill them outright. Even so, with the power of our mages, our arms and the Sunwell we held them off, but it wasn't enough. We were losing by attrition. We got scared, so we turned to a desperate gamble and one that we'd decided against often enough in previous generations."

"Humanity." George said, nodding. "The league of Arathor everyone keeps mentioning in such reverent whispers."

"Yes." Andrea said simply. "Humans were only slightly better than barbarians at the time, but they had shown success in facing he trolls in recent generations which were much shorter than our own and had done it without the aid of magic. A group of our best teachers went to the human capital city, a crudely hewn stone fort at that time, and offered our 'wondrous skills' in exchange for assistance against a common enemy. The humans were hesitant, but agreed because their hatred of the trolls was well ingrained into their society. What we found afterwards was disturbing. Humans, while short lived, had little control over their powers despite the best our magisters tried to direct their learning, but showed themselves able to rise rapidly in power, almost frighteningly so. When we finally coaxed the humans into battle at the siege of Silvermoon, our capital and last remaining city on the mainland the human mages released a near apocalyptic firestorm that killed the entire troll army in a single attack."

She shook her head. "It still hasn't changed much, even six thousand years later. Imagine how the high elves see it… Humans have always been tools to them; short lived, often unintelligent, prone to irrational fears unskilled in magic even in Dalaran, and yet wielding power equal or greater than our greatest magisters who've spent centuries building up their prowess. It isn't as bad as it could be, there are thousands of half elves in the world after all, but there's still a clearly definable level of treatment between us and pureblood elves. Getting jobs is… difficult at best, training often has to be begged for, we're overcharged by elven vendors and generally treated with distain. In human society it's better, because we're still recognized as elves we receive preferential treatment by most humans, even more sometimes because our short ears proclaim our human blood and make people less awed and more comfortable in our presence, but it's still far from ideal."

George frowned "what's wrong with that? You said you're treated with awe, respect and familiarity in human cities, isn't that a good thing?"

"It is…" the astromancer replied slowly "and many of us try to live among humans once we realize the difference in how we're treated, but think about it logically and look beyond the obvious. While humans in your world might live a century if they take care of themselves, humans here rarely live much past forty. Between the high levels of banditry, the ever preset threat of forest trolls, the long quiet war between idiot human warlocks and the legion operatives they invariably end up summoning few humans live to be grandparents outside of nobility, the church or Dalaran. I'm not sure about you, but repeatedly watching your friends and family die while you live on… It's little wonder most half elves take up with our pureblood cousins."

George nodded. "The curse of mortality, I've heard it mentioned in stories from time to time on earth. If you don't mind though, what are the common lifetimes on Azeroth?"

"Hmm… I'm unsure about gnomes, trolls or orcs, but dwarves live three hundred years easy enough. Until the second war they had few enemies and most of them lived above ground while the dwarves stayed below in their mines or high above on their griffons. Their mages and priests have been known to last as long as nine hundred years though, assuming they don't get caught up in the clan battles."

She paused a second to think before continuing "Human royalty… 60 I think… King Terranus was nearly eighty but he was considered aberrant even among his own peers. Some suspected he had some sort of training in the holy light, but he's never been a priest or sorcerer. The mages of Dalaran, assuming they don't get themselves killed can easily live a hundred and fifty years, like in your world. Also like in your world their potential vitality is dependent on the type and level of power that may command. Antonidas was in his early fourth century and still going strong when Arthas attacked and Modera and Drenden are both two hundred and fifty seven, though they don't look much older than forty. Agewynn, the previous guardian of Tirisfal was over a thousand when she retired and since nobody's ever found her body, most assume that she's still alive somewhere."

"Your typical elf on the other hand will live for four hundred years before dying of old age, as many as a thousand if they're a powerful mage and the priests and priestesses of the light… well, let's just say that we have a few who were around to see the last cataclysm and still actively participate in the goings on at Silvermoon." The she paused and frowned darkly "or at least did before the Dar'khan betrayed us to Arthas… I haven't been there since before the first war and news only really comes on the wings of pleas for relief and support via Prince Kael."

There was a long silence between the two before George spoke up. "Ok, so, among elves, halfbloods have it bad, visa-vi you have difficulty getting anywhere with anything that requires social interaction and… what? My running off after befriending you damaged your reputation somehow?"

Solus, who was in the process of siting up crossed her arms under her breasts, looked away, blushed and frowned. "Yes and no…" she replied quietly. "It really is all your fault though, even if made in ignorance." George afforded an affronted look and made to speak but was cut off. "Oh, stop being such a baby and let me explain! Remember when you first arrived?"

"Yeah, I came into your tower and stole your carpet." The redhead nodded his face shifting back to his own features at the memory, but keeping the deeper red hair and elven highlights. "I was coming to return that actually, when you found me in the street. Here" he finished, pulling the shrunken rug out of his bag and resizing it for her. "This way it's only borrowed, see?" He said, smiling brightly.

She glared at him briefly before taking the rug and giving a slight smile and blush as she turned away and led it to an open spot on the floor. "You're interrupting me." She said scoldingly. "Regardless, when you stole my rug, Prince Kael ordered me to keep a close eye on you. He wanted to know if you had any other new magic than your mysterious flying rug. The Prince has given me everything. When few if any in the elven cities would hire a halfblood enchanting student who had to drop out of school for lack of a trust fund he took me off the streets and set me up in the Tower of Azora south of Stormwind. While I'm not the Prince's only charity case or even his favorite he visits me often, funds my research and lifestyle and gathers me commissions in things I'm interested in learning or doing."

She stood up and began pacing "It's not entirely selfless of course, everything he gives me to do furthers one or another of his own goals, but I really, honestly owe him everything."

She turned sharply and stared at him intently. "Keeping close to you was supposed to be an easy assignment. It was obvious from the beginning that you found me attractive, for all your shapeshifting and transfigurations as you call them, you're horrible at hiding, always preferring to make a scene, letting your intentions be known, playing pranks or displaying strange feats of delicate magic up and down the city…" she paused and looked suddenly weary. "Even after all of that you still slipped away and left me behind. Not just once, but dozens of times. Prince Kael was furious with me! He didn't show it of course, it's considered sloppy, weak and uncouth for an elven dignitary to betray their emotions publically and often even in private, but I've known him for most of a century. He's taken my funding and reduce my pay to commission, only rewarding me when I have something to show him. Debt collectors have begun showing up at my tower settling things with me rather than one of the Princes functionaries, though how the damn vultures can still be concerned with money at a time like this is beyond me, and my reputation has all but disappeared."

She gave a snort of disgust. "To think, after all of my work, my decades of supposedly fruitful service and respect on the battlefield for being able to clear the battlefield of the endless orcish tides you know what people are saying about me now?" She glared at him, having built herself back up to a rage again. "People are referring to me as the half-elf who couldn't keep her human enchanted."

They stared at each other for a long minute while the astromancer let herself wind down. Once the fire had gone out of her eyes George spoke up, voice thoughtful. "So you got tossed into the fire and got burnt" he said ruthlessly, voice still casual and thoughtful. "I can't see how that's my fault, it just means that you're Prince is an asshat… Still, I don't see a reason not to try and help you, what would you have me do?"

"Would it be too much to ask for you to go back in time and beat yourself across the head and explain this before I'm ruined?" She asked sarcastically.

"Mah, perhaps I could, it's only a few weeks ago… problem is I don't have a timeturner or the knowledge to make one. The boys at doom keep those things locked up tight, even where my not inconsiderable friends and influence are concerned. Besides which, messing with time is tricky and dangerous… the lucky ones just die." George danced and smiled internally at Solus's openmouthed look of shock.

Goerge never got to listen to her doubtlessly amusing response however as another elf burst into Andrea's tower chambers. He was tall, just over seven feet, eight between his ears and spiky jet black hair, tied back in a high ponytail. Golden eyes and a hammer marked him as a paladin. "Solusandra, we are in position, the Prince is ordering all available magic users to mount their carpets. We begin the evacuation of Quel'Thalas in an hour!"

"Solus… Andra?" George asked.

Andrea blushed. "Danni! I'm here with a guest! Grr… Tell the Prince I'll be down there momentarily, George, if you'll excuse me." And with that, the redhead rushed over to the carpet George had just returned and blew out the balcony archway.

"So… Danni…"

"It's Danik, wizard." The elf replied coldly, turning away and stomping his way towards the stairs.

George caught up with him easily though and tried again. "Paladin Danik, would you mind if I accompanied you?"

"Yes." The elf glowered, but George ignored him. Seeing that 'that human' wasn't going to leave Danik pulled out an ornately engraved silver mirror from one of his pouches. After a few seconds of chanting a small wave of gold and violet lightning flowed over the device and George saw Kael'Thas face appear in the reflection. George perked up, not having been aware that such things existed in this world, though considering how closely the city's inhabitants watched him, perhaps it hadn't… hadn't the black haired elf just mentioned mounting your carpets? "Prince Sunstrider, I've found asromancer Solus, she's on her way." He glared briefly at George who was still following him and watching intently. "She was in her chambers visiting with the wizard, Weasley."

"Indeed…" the elven prince's voice returned through the mirror, sounding warped and distorted as though the enchantment were poorly cast. "He follows her, paladin?"

"No," Danik growled in reply, "he's insisted on bothering me."

"Fascinating… stay with him paladin. I know your magic has suffered from your years of diverting attention to the holy light and armed combat, but even so, you might still gain some insights from his presence. I'll expect a report by the end of the day."

"…Understood, milord." The elf replied, his voice tight and clipped. With another word the mirror became blank again and the paladin slipped it back in his bag.

"So!" George spoke up brightly, "seems like we're stuck with each other! Or rather, you're stuck with me…" the wizard didn't get to finish his thought because the armored elf had whirled around in the stairs and grabbed him by the front of his leather jacket and slammed him against the wall. George had just enough time to thicken the bone on the back of his skull before impact. Even so the redhead was slightly dazed and reeling from the impact when his attacker began talking.

"Listen to me carefully human," he snarled "little Andrea has been a close friend of mine since she was old enough to talk. Your antics have cost her dearly and if I find that you have hurt her again I _will _end you. I don't care how important you are to everyone around here or what your real purpose here is, I swear on her mother's grave that my mace will be the last thing you ever see. Do we understand each other?"

George used the elf's unguarded stare to dive into his mind and flinched at the intensity of his conviction and protective anger. Following the feelings and associations George found the memory of Andrea Solus's birth, and more specifically, why this Danik was so direct on the issue. Danik Sunscythe was Andrea's uncle, and her mother his sister. Though the paladin/mage had been far less than pleased by the decision, Danik's sister had married a minor noble and mage in Stormwind nearly a century before the first war which had killed both Andrea's parents and two older brothers. Solusandra was a nickname Danik had given her when she was twenty and, aside from being a play on her name, meant 'the one who stands alone'. At the time it had been a reference to her independent spirit and prodigious growth in studying enchanting, it was only later that he realized the hidden irony when he'd found her wondering the streets of Silvermoon nearly twenty years ago, copperless, her parents money lost in the destruction of Stormwind and her family. He had quietly arranged with Prince Kael to patronize the young elf while he fought on the frontlines of the first and later beside her in the second and now third wars.

Pulling back out of the elves mind George nodded solemnly. "I understand." They stared at each other for nearly a minute more before Danik snorted and dropped the redhead. As he turned away George straightened his shirt and duster before catching up with the magical knight.

"If you don' mind my asking, how long have you been using that mirror?" George asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

"A week." The older man grunted. Then he glanced down at his companion briefly. "Prince Sunstrider built the first few for our enchanters after studying little Andrea's notes on your mirror."

George nodded. "It's crude." He replied shortly. "May I see it?"

"You doubt the work of Councilor Sunstrider and a few dozen of Quel'thalas best arcanists?" the taller man asked with a raised brow.

George gave him a dirty look as the pair of them came to a stop at the bottom of the stairwell. "I developed these things," George replied pulling out his own "and I know my picture and sound quality were far better than that. Also, you needed a full on chant to use it where mine only need the name of a bonded user."

"Fine" the former sorcerer grunted, retrieving the mirror from his pouch and pushing it roughly into George's stomach "play with your toys human."

George shook his head and pulled out his wand. While he admitted some culpability for Solus's situation, the man had serious issues.

Waving his wand over the mirror slowly as they walked, George began muttering diagnostic charms one after another. As the returns off the spells began filtering back he winced. The glass was uneven with a bulge in the upper right and warping on the edges and the Disney's beauty and the beast rip-off was powered by a pair of crystals holding the charms rather than runework, neither of which he'd ever seen before. …At least not close up… there was a division of scryers here after all, perhaps Andrea's notes were limited to operation rather than spellforms and they spliced a few things together to make a cheap imitation?

Switching from charms to transfiguration George smoothed out the glass as he followed Solusandra's uncle. 'Solusandra', heh, poor girl. He'd have to do something about that. Later. Discreetly. And perhaps not with the elves. Hmm. He finished melting an older rune-set into the back and began tapping them to offer the initial charge. It was one of his first successful 'cellphone' models, possessing only the learn user and call any-mirror functions. "Give this modification to your niece, Paladin Sunscythe, and let her know that it was on your word the prince began funding her to begin with. She was pretty messed up when I talked to her, your prince is a ruddy arse and she needs to know she has your support." With that he teleported away, leaving the shocked elf holding the mirror.

~! #$%^&*()_+

Arthas watched with a smirk as the portal shuddered, reality warping under the combined efforts of casting the dimensional rift wide enough for Archimonde to finish pulling himself through. Even with the combined might and skill of dozens of high ranking magically trained demons of the legion it had taken seventeen days to reopen a portal Kel'thusald had nearly managed in an afternoon. His arm twitched, frostmorne heavy as he itched to strike the monsters down, consume their screaming souls and reopen the portal on his own terms, simply to rub it in these devils faces. But his master held him back. '_not yet.'_ It whispered ceaselessly '_not yet! There will be time for betrayal later, when the legions victory seems complete and the massacre has reached its greatest potential. Be patient, death knight, patient._'

And so he waited, the hunger of his blade itching at his arm, the fabric of the universe heaving and the portals own structure distorting… and then… finally, the great lord general of the demonic forces of the corrupted Titan set hoof upon the world of Azeroth. _**"I. Am. Returned."**_

The arch demon turned to the host before him, which bowed in submission, all save for Arthas. _**"Tichondrious."**_ The monster rumbled, his anger turning the sky dark and stormy. _**"I am disappointed in you. Suffer."**_

'Such a simple statement, to convey such power and pain…' Arthas mused cheerily as he listened to the horrible, multilayered, keening, rasping screech of the Nathreziem leader. It reminded him of the sound Sylvanas had made as he tore her soul apart and twisted the scraps into the first banshee, only far more horrific.

While the dreadlord screamed his throat raw the legions tactician, Kiljaden also made his way through the portal, usurping the casting, stabilizing the tear and binding it to the life forces of several of the stronger lieutenants. As the screaming petered out and doom-guard began marching out of the portal in three tiered ranks; one on the ground, two more flying and seven abreast, Kiljaden stepped up beside his brother and lay a hand on the grey skinned behemoths shoulder. The brothers glared fiercely at each other and the had was shrugged off. _**"Rise, Tichondrius. Your punishment shall remain, for the moment, thus. Your minions are powerful and nearly succeeded in summoning me on their own. Pay them closer attention in the future, your next failure will be your last."**_

"_**Death Knight. Step forward."**_ Holding back a growl Arthas did so. _**"You have kept vigil on the human that delayed me."**_ From any other being this might have been a question, but from the leader apparent of the entire burning legion it was a demand, pure and simple.

"My agents have kept me informed." He sneered. "He and Dalaran travel into Quel'thalas, burdened with refugees. Their city hangs in the sky, out of the reach of most of my forces, but surely that is of no consequence for you. Regardless, my master is working to correct this oversight. Frost lich are being raised from the Dragonblight in Northrend even now."

The great monster nodded slowly. _**"Go there and assume direct control. This will be your trial, lieutenant."**_ Then he turned to the dreadlords, kicking Tichondrius who was still kneeling on the ground. _**"Nathreziem, the scourge of Lorderan belongs to you, finish wiping this continent of life."**_

Arthas quivered, torn between boiling wrath and soaring elation. Nodding he turned from the monolithic monsters and summoned a gargoyle from the skies above him and leapt onto its back. In one final act of defiance he directed the fel animated stone to fly him over to where Tichondrius had landed. "I told you your magic would not stop me." He leered, slowly burying his blade into the vampires heart until his weapon consumed its soul. Ner'zul could bring the slime back later if either general truly needed him Arthas reasoned pleasantly as he rode for Northrend.

~! #$%^&*()_+

Sirius leapt, his jaws flashing as he tore out the throat of another orc peon manning a catapult before barking a powerful bludgeoner at the contraption to keep the warsong from remanning it with any real speed. He popped away as a red eyed blade master tried to take his head off with a massive axe. He saw Jaina calling down a blizzard to harass the thick skinned orcs while a lone warrior charged her from behind. Sirius popped away to appear within the hollow of the orcs bare stomach, causing the creature to explode in a shower of gore and bile, mere yards from his girl.

"Thanks, Grim." The blond sorcerer queen called out with a smile for the shaggy animagus. "And just so you know, there's absolutely no way I'm letting you back into my rooms tonight until you get a bath."

*As if I wasn't already covered in blood before now!* Sirius sent back with yipping laugh before launched himself back into the battle. He landed with a loud crack and barked out a cutting curse. Well more than half of the orcs in the row he'd been facing ducked, having learned from the last three times he'd done this. He was about to bark out another spell when the blade master from last time came roaring down out of the sky towards him again. Yipping out in alarm he ported several yards to the left and facing his previous position. With a heavy **woof** he softened the ground to quicksand and back as the warrior landed, plowing into the momentarily softened earth up to the flag attached to his battle standard.

Thinking his opponent disabled and suffocating the canine animagus charged through a bludgeoning bark, knocking aside several orcs to get to one of their casters. Clamping down on the robed orcs leg, he teleported again before his passenger could get over the pain and shock enough to try and resist. That was how splinchings happened. Popping away to the alliance parade ground with his prize Sirius immediately released the orc who was struck on the head and shackled by waiting warriors. Sirius stayed long enough to see his latest capture being dragged over to the priests with the last six before turning to leave again.

Concentrating on taking a large amount of air with him this time, Sirius arrived on the battlefield with an explosive _**bang!**_ His appearance was met by cries of lo'gosh and a chilling scream from the blademaster he had buried not minutes before. They stared at each other for half a second before the Orc charged, that hellish scream causing the air to warp and ripple at his approach.

Sirius was having none of it though, he'd been trained as a professional hit-wizard (the closest thing earth, or at least England, had to a warmage these days) spent two years under Dumbledore as covert opps and seven under Jaina as her magic-girl companion, he knew how to counter a charge spell. Either hit it with a stronger one head-on and prove dominance or get the fuck out of the way and hit them while they're busy. The animagus opted for the second. Shielding the worst of the sonic attack Sirius transfigured the ground beneath his paws to a granite like consistency and apparated out of the way as the blade masters enchanted axe moaned through the space where he had been just a split second before, plasma and sparks trailing where the magics imbedded in the axe and shield had fought. Reappearing above and behind the orc Sirius immediately barked out as bludgeoner and a stunner as he came in to land from his teleportation leap, jaws wide and teeth flashing.

The bludgeoner impacted the green skinned monster, driving him into the now rocky earth and bloodying his face and nose, the stunner following swiftly after causing his back to go numb, but Grom was hardly a babe in the womb. Long held and oft challenged chief of the warsong clan he took the two blows that individually should have ended the fight with stars dancing across his vision and head ringing and still managed to roll over violently, Gorehowl humming in his hand as it moved to meet his most worthy opponents throat. Only for the wolf to disappear again as the axe sought to cleave it in two.

Sirius landed, snarling, a dozen yards away. "_Lo'gosh._" The greenskin rumbled, rolling to his feet, axe tensed and ready. "Ha _urok mag Grom, ag hro lok'tir ag ara krisha ogg." _ He said, not attacking, but circling as he spoke. _"Jur nag in krush bur bur ragath'a?_"

'Damn language barrier' Sirius grumbled internally, following the same animal pattern of circling an opponent you have respect for, rather than the lightning strike against one who is prey. Deciding to take a risk Sirius's eyes glowed with legillimacy and dove into his opponents mind for a translation and response. Viewing the memory of the last few seconds from the orcs perspective the marauder heard "Ghost wolf. My name is Grom(Giant), it's an honor to face you. But why do you fight for the alliance?"

Coming out of the chiefs mind Sirius growled again, the damn brute had taken his split second of inattention to charge again. Teleporting behind the brute at a close enough distance he couldn't just dodge he barked out another bludgeoner stunner combo before popping away to do it twice more from two consecutively closer positions making a triangle. Each set of spells impacted the elderly, blood drinking warrior in a strike that should have crushed him like a soda can or left a dragon woozy. The orc fell to his knees; red eyes dazed the axe dropping from his hands.

Sirius loped up to stand in front of him, eyes glowing with legillimancy again. *I fight for my pack* he replied deep canine snarling repeating with each breath *because Jaina has honor. Unlike some, Grom Hellscream.* Then he lunged forward, jaws wide to tear out the throat of one of the orcish races three principal betrayers. But as his teeth brushed against the heaving emerald flesh of his opponent… time stopped.

"I'm sorry, padfoot," a cultured, weary voice spoke and Sirius felt as if he were floating as he was lifted from his body to float ghostlike facing the newcomer "but I cannot let you kill Hellscream." The figure said, leaning heavily on a beaded, eagle headed staff. "He is too important to the weave. Please, try to understand."

"Who the bloody buggering fuck are you?" Sirius snarled, still aggravated from being pulled out in the middle of a fury driven kill.

"Ah, I should have realized…" Medivh replied with a chuckle. "You were raiding Antonidas wine cellar when I came to speak to him and Lady Proudmore nearly five years ago." Pulling back his hood, the ghostly figure bowed with a flourish, revealing a weathered face, formerly handsome, with aristocratic features and grey beard and hair. "I am your lady's prophet." He said simply.

"And the mutt?" Sirius asked, nearly calmed down by now.

"Important. That is all you need to know at the moment." The last guardian replied firmly.

Sirius's eyes narrowed. He'd heard similar words and tones from Dumbledore in both previous wars. He'd been less than pleased to accept it then and had no reason to do it again. "The bloody hell it is." He returned sharply. "Do you know what this one's done? I saw it in his mind, he sold out his race to a demon and led them to slaughter men women and children en masse from a race that had never done anything but offer the hand of friendship and healing! The only ones he spared could hardly be called such as he and his warriors brutally raped them before either abandoning them to die or cutting them up for the stew pot. Is _that_ what you want me to spare? I've fought wars for the life and soul of humanity before, prophet, and I've seen where this leads. You'd better have a damn good reason for stopping me."

The other grey haired man stared at him for what felt like an eternity before heaving a long sigh. "Perhaps you have a point, wizard. It's hard to see the individual pictures when the wider one is so important. You want a reason? Simple. I see the future. Had you and your friends not come to my world he would have redeemed himself his betrayal not two or three months from now, sacrificing himself to face the demon he'd bound the orcs to in the first place and defeating him in single combat. While it does not excuse his previous atrocities, saving the souls of the entire orcish race does make up for those he condemned."

Sirius stared at Medivh incredulously. It was like dealing with Dumbledore again; only this man was infinitely more powerful and slightly more prone to sharing information and regret. It wasn't a big distinction, but a small niggling voice in the back of his mind wondered if it wasn't the most important one when dealing with such characters. "Prophet, that kind of thinking isn't balanced, it's degenerative. Please for the love of everything that's holy tell me you were a poor student in history, because there's no other way to excuse that sort of bullshit. He betrayed the orcish race, they were resisting in the face of two leaders and a Morgana-damned demon lord! He convinced them that drinking the blood would bring them glory and honor! If he hadn…"

"And if he hadn't then someone else would have!" Medivh exploded. "Did you think I had not considered this when reviewing the timeline for the best way to save all of the races? Every time I stopped one, the demonic corruption rose up and seduced another to speak to turn the favor of the leaders towards that end. The difference, wizard, is that when it wound down to the possible oath binders, only Hellscream had the potential to face Manaroth and win! Simply killing the beast is not enough; that would severely weaken the demonic corruption of their bodies and souls, true, but only the one who made the pact can truly cleanse it!" He jabbed his staff furiously at the kneeling orc. "He is that Orc, the one who can free the orcs from a condemnation they could not have avoided."

Sirius fell silent and mulled that over. "So you're saying of a thousand terrible futures he was the least of all evils?"

"Yes."

"You know I'm still going to bite him."

The prophet nodded. "Just don't do anything a priest can't fix. As I said, we need him. And don't be too upset about it, wizard, the futures where he wins, nearly all of them end in him dying for the attempt."

Sirius snorted. After a few seconds he spoke again. "Before you return me to my body, I've got a favor to ask."

Medivh cocked his head to the side slightly like the bird he often was. "Oh? Do tell."

"Yeah," he last heir of the Black family said "I want Hellscream to remember this conversation, except that I don't want it to be us he sees. You appeared to Jaina's mentor and Thrall as a raven and Hellscream referred to me as one of his gods, the ghost wolf. Let him see those debating his fate as we did while he floats between them in a pool of blood."

"A pool of _blood_?" the robed man returned. "My, you're one for theatrics, aren't you?"

Sirius grinned. "Na, theatrics would be me insisting he remember the blood as being specifically from the innocents he's slain."

~! #$%^&*()_+

George appeared with a bang in the receiving chamber beneath Dalaran, nearly splinching himself as he compensated for an unexpected space expansion charm that had been placed upon the cavern not hours before. While the roughhewn hall had been large before, easily seating a host of ten thousand, it was now enormous. More than a hundred thousand elves milled around the place moving crates from which they unloaded carpets, mirrors, food and racks upon racks of potions. The air above the din was similarly full of even more elves, already flying rugs of every shape and size. Banquet tables lined the walls, already overflowing with food and drink while portals festooned the air, never less than a hundred feet up with blood red and plum colored fires dancing through each other ten feet below each opening.

And there, in the center of it all, barking out orders like a drill seargent, stood Kael'thas Sunstrider.

George gaped, openmouthed at the tableau before him. Dalaran's relief efforts before this had always been well supported and well organized, but the sheer scale of what he saw here… It was astounding. Asshole or not, the elven prince obviously cared for his people and was willing to move heaven and earth to see them saved. It actually made George feel guilty over not having done more to speed things along. The prophet had given him a time limit of two weeks give or take a few days, and it had been that long and more… he only hoped the demons hadn't gotten far enough through the portal that they could properly follow before this was over.

As George watched lights began to play over one of the walls, forming into fields of color that bent into representations of mountains, lakes, fields, forests, roads, rivers and cities. Directed by the efforts of no less than fifty elves in ornate robes and the symbol of the violet eye on their tabards the lights slowly gained definition until it was a map of incredible detail, even going so far as to include the positions of scourge and elven survivors to the number, classification and location down to a few meters.

Then Sunstriders voice began booming in thalasian and filling the entire chamber. Much to Georges annoyance as he couldn't tell what was being said, but the effect was obvious enough. The portals switched from glowing frames of light to scenes of countryside, ruins and trees and the elves began pouring through, mirrors shining in their hands like beacons. George began focusing on the tracking charm he'd left on Andrea's rug when a thick meaty hand clapped him on the shoulder, the casual force of the blow reminding him of meetings with Hagrid, the half-giant games keeper of Hogwarts castle.

"THAR YE ARE, LADDIE!" boomed the voice of a drunken dwarf. George turned around to see the bare chested, rune covered form of Bori Sparkaxe, the dwarf he'd held a drunken inventors conference with nearly a week ago.

"Bori, mate," George returned massaging his shoulder "to what do I owe the honor? And how are you flying?" For indeed he was. Runes aglow in their various tattoos that covered the dwarven mage making him nearly black under normal circumstances, the four and a half foot wall of muscle was floating just above eye level with the tall Weasley.

"Because I done it, laddie!" he replied in a stage whisper, moving around to grasp George by both shoulders. "The enchantment ya showen me an ereyone else fer flight, I've managed to translate it ter roones! Added it enta me own pattern, see? Ach, da boys at aerie peak are gonna be so jealous when I get back from this war!"

George grinned, his eyes alight. "Master dwarf, could you perchance apply your rune set to anybody and allow them to fly?"

"O'course!" the short spell caster boomed, in mock offense. "So long as they got a bit a trainin in how ter use magic. Jus need ter know how ter shift a little energy around to land or take off. Though, I suppose if you got a friendly mage or don mind floatin aroun all day you wouldn need ter know…" Sparkaxe fell silent for a few seconds contemplating that. "Eh, best be done by knowin, wouldn't wana run outa power and fall on yer arse alla a sudden. What if ye was real high up? Dwarves, we're tough, It'd hurt but probably wouldn' kill us, but humans, wee gnomes or them pansy elves" this comment got us a round of angry or resigned glares from our nearby audience "you'd probably die if'n ya fell!"

"That is a concern of course," George agreed "but that's why the wizards who make brooms put in a bit of arithmancy to draw power from the area around you. You didn't take that out did you?"

"Um… I don' think so. Here, lemme check." With that he pulled out a small belt pouch, stuffed his arm deep inside it and began riffling around. Eventually he pulled out a roll of stiff vellum sheets and loose leaf paper. Untying the bundle and spreading it out he started muttering and shuffling around pages of notes and diagrams before coming up from the mess with one of them. "Aha! Here it is! Umm… this goes here, an that goes there… Ah, yeah, I removed it. Damn things too unstable, it'd take in just about anyting fer fuel and messed with me own power feed runeset ta boot. Good thing ter put on a rug, not so much a person."

George nodded slowly, that made a sort of sense, with the wide and varied types of energies that mixed to form wild magic it would be easy to draw in something nasty if you weren't careful in how you ordered your runes, especially on Azeroth where the other frequencies of magic ran thick. "May I take a copy of your runework, master dwarf?"

"Eh, I suppose yu inspired it, so I don' see why not, but as our las meetin was all in the spirit of trade, whacha got fer me in return?"

George cocked his head to the side, considering. "You dwarves are fairly famous for your guns, aren't you?"

"Eh, a fair few o my race like em, sure. Don, no one make em bettar."

"Alright, what do you use for bullets?"

"Powdar 'n shot; what else?"

George grinned. Waving his wand and muttering he transfigured a tile on the ground into a double barreled shotgun and a box of slugs. "This," he old he dwarf, showing him one of the twelve gauge slugs "will completely revolutionized your guns." With a flick of his wrist he cracked open the stock and loaded a pair of shells. "Bullets are better than power and shot because they're easier to carry, you don' have to worry about your rifle getting wet. Two barrels so you can fire again quickly, reload takes seconds as opposed to the near minute of ram loading a bag of powder and then the ball. The rounded cone shape also allows for a much longer and more accurate shot. Hermione and I got into a rather heated debate one day about who would win between a wizard and the human warriors of our world. In the end it came down to who had first strike capability."

Bori took the offered weapon and turned it over, looking it up and down. He cracked it open and watched as a pin on the stock, just below the barrel ejected the cartridge. "Looks like you've done a few things to tha gun too." He commented. "An steel rounds too? Innerestin… yu seema be heavy on tha penetration value, but any good bullet needs more weight."

"The bullets are made to pierce armor, Bori. The steel is a shell on the outside while the core of the bullet is lead. Besides that bullets and guns scale up fairly easily, so long as you keep the bullets fitted to the chamber. I'm fairly sure there's a lot more to it, but it was years ago and I never really went anywhere with the idea." The dwarf nodded and opened up a different pouch. After dumping both the gun and the bullets within he pulled out another page of vellum.

"Here," he grunted "tit for tat, you gave me two things, tattoo this runeset on the small of yer back and yu should be able ter heal jus abou anythin so long as ye got power still." George accepted both sheets with a grin. Combined with the primer on dwarven runes he had gotten in the first exchange he was pretty sure he could partner with Saint Mungos to pull in a king's ransom. Not that he really needed to, but the looks on people's faces when you really rocked the boat was more than worth it.

_I look around and all I see is chaos, panic and disorder. At last, my work is done. _Waving his wand over the two pages separately George cast a multiplication charm and shrunk the stacks into the size of a pack of cards. Binding them together with a sticking charm, the surviving twin placed the copies in his pocket. Pulling out another freshly enchanted rug George flew off to aid in the relief effort.

~! #$%^&*()_+

Thrall stood over his old friend and mentor and frowned deeply. "How long has he been like his?"

"Nearly an hour, warchief." The attending shamen replied.

Thrall nodded, tracing the fresh scars that crisscrossed the green skin, forming three interlocking triangles. "And the symbol on his chest?"

"Carved there by Lo'gosh, warchief."

The human raised orc stared at him incredulously. "You can't be serious?"

The shaman shrugged helplessly. "Our frostwolf mounts stand shoulder to hip with us, this wolf stood tall as most of our warriors. Not only that, it appeared and vanished as one would imagine a ghost and used magic by bark and howl." The elder orc shook his head. "It may yet be many things, warchief, but the men call it Lo'gosh and Grom spoke of a wolf and raven debating his fate when we recovered him from the field. Whatever happened to him it wasn't kind."

"Kindness…" croaked a voice from below them, causing both shamen to turn and looks at their comrade "is not something I deserve."

"Explain yourself old friend." Thrall said, keeling down and pulling the other chieftain into a sitting position. "I would not have you debase yourself."

Grom gave him a hollow look and snorted. "Tell me, warchief, is there honor in the murder of friends? The slaughter of innocents? Of attacking allies who have spent centuries by your side occasionally teaching and healing your people? No, I think not." He noticed Thralls look of horror and the other shaman's look of resignation and chuckled. "Yes, son of Durotan, I did it all, and at the time did it with glee for I believed our fight to be just despite the obvious."

"Tell me what it is you mean, Hellscream. What could cause one of the most honorable orcs I know to behave as such? It was the demons who enslaved us, was it not?" Thrall asked, looking for some way out. Thrall was far from stupid and knew well that the orc race had committed atrocities under the rule of the demons, but his friend and mentor, one of the few surviving orcs that had never fallen to a human, was suggesting that that was not all there was to the story.

Grom barked out a laugh. "Talk to your old teacher Drek'thar if you want the details, but we rode out and eagerly slaughtered the Draenai _years _before the demons enslaved us with the blood of Manaroth, pup. The demon king kiljaden promised power to Ner'zul if he led us in the slaughter and he agreed. Then, when he felt guilty Guldan took up that mantel. They did not enchant us, did not enslave us, but rather merely whispered oily words into our ears and we happily went off to slaughter our friends. The enslavement came later. It was Gul'dan's idea, but the warchiefs were resisting, so I stepped up and drank the first blood! It was _**I **_who enslaved our people."

"Grom," Thrall said, his voice slightly shaky despite a great effort of control "I have always known you to be grim, and occasionally even melancholy, but this is unlike you. What happened out on that battlefield?"

"Your prophet." The old chieftain spat. "Somehow the leader of the humans, a weak slip of a girl, called Lo'gosh and bid him cast judgment on me." Grom gave something between a biter laugh and a sigh. "While I was the unyielding and ferocious warrior that is his standard, he judged me a murderer rather than a protector and I was found wanting." He spat. "Then, as Lo'gosh was about to tear out my throat and put me to rest, your prophet came and stopped him. They argued whilst I floated in a sea of blood, witnessing the lives, childhoods and deeds of all the innocents I had slain." He huffed and shook his head. "Neither the spirits of wolf nor raven were keen on keeping me alive, Thrall, but the raven argued that as the one who made the pact with the blood demon, only I could properly free us of it. It comes for us, even now, in the land we just fled and if anyone but I slays him the Orcs shall be released, but remain forever tainted."

~! #$%^&*()_+

Jaina followed Grim, Sirius Black she reminded herself, down to the dungeons where they had stashed the dozen captured spellcasters. Jaina scowled deeply as she looked upon the bodies of several slain orcs and the glowing golden white chains that bound the rest. "What happened here?"

"Our apologies, Lady Proudmore." One of the priests, a dark skinned girl with silver hair, odd for her apparent age, spoke. "The orcs in chains of holy light are shamen, but the dead were warlocks first and foremost." She explained, pulling out a hankerchief and sponging black blood from one of the fresher victims and offering it as evidence to her leader. "The holy light burned their skin and they attempted to summon demons against us. We had no choice but to put them down." She concluded, plaintively. "The rest have been cared for!" she added, when the stormy expression did not leave Jaina's features. "Their wounds were healed; they haven't been beaten and were fed a hot meal, undrugged even!"

"Fine." The sorcerer queen replied after a short silence. "Leave me; I'm sure you have other duties to attend to."

"But milady!"

Jaina silenced her with a look. "I'll be fine Giselle," she stressed, calmingly "Grim is by my side and I can take care of myself, shackles or no shackles." When the priests had left and he chains faded Jaina turned to the captive shaman who were beginning to get to their feet. "Why did you follow us here, Orcs? We let you leave our shores in relative peace, was that not enough?"

"Peace?" one of the brutes laughed "Our warchief had to break us out! We lost hundreds of fine elders and warriors the raids against the internment camps, and you talk of peace?" Lightning began to run across his fingers but before it could pool in his hands for a lightning ball or run up his arms in preparation for chained lightning attack Sirius barked and the old orc fell to the ground and began snoring.

"Yes," Jaina said to the rest "peace. We saw what you were doing, read your plans, even attended some of your meetings and spoke with your Thrall." Jaina continued causing several of the orcs to flinch at each revelation. "A curious name for the lord of all clans." She summoned a chair for herself and the still conscious orcs from her new rooms upstairs and sat down, waiting for them to follow suit. "While the kingdoms or Lorderan sent token troops to harass you nobody really put up a fight to stop you and as I said, the mages of Dalaran knew exactly what you were up to. Your warchief intended to leave. Take the orcish race and seek a homeland beyond the shores and borders of humanity. We were fine with that, Antonidas actually encouraged it."

"Then why did you ask if we followed you, human?" asked one of the younger shaman.

"Because you left five years ago and when we cast our map spell you weren't here. Nobody takes a fleet of fully stocked, specially unarmed warships and requires five years to reach Kalimdor. My fleet did it in three months and many of our ships would hardly have been called sea worthy."

"Arrogant human sow," one of the muttered causing Sirius to growl deeply "this land was promised to our warchief by the raven spirit. The time taken to arrive here was spent crashing upon the islands between here and Azeroth and repairing our vessels to set out again. We didn't follow you, you followed us!"

"The raven spirit?" Jaina asked, leaning forward with interest.

The orcs looked uncomfortable now but apparently through either stupidity or apathy didn't see a reason not to continue sharing. "Yes, It came to Thrall in a dream and spoke to him at the edge of camp often. Ravens are symbols of wisdom and this one offered our race a prophesy. The human lands would burn beneath the wings of demons as would all who stayed within them, but the orcs could find safety and a homeland beneath the shadow of the stonetalon peak across the sea in Kalimdor. Demon apocalypse or no demon apocalypse a safe homeland sounded pleasant to us and the clans quickly agreed to follow our warchief."

Jaina and Sirius looked at each other. *It explains a lot.* Sirius sent.

*Like what Medivh was doing defending that orc you fought.* Jaina returned haltingly, only recently having learned of this branch of magic. *I don't like it though, why send the Orcs?*

*Well,* Sirius replied, his mental voice grudging and skeptical *he claims to see the future; maybe he thought humans and orcs would have to unite to stop these demons? He did say that Azeroth would burn beneath the wings of demons and there were several fairly sizable armies you didn't manage to convince to follow us.*

*But how would he think that we could do what the combined forces of Lorderan could not?*

*Beats the hell out of me* Sirius replied with a shrug *maybe there's something special about the mountain he wants to put us both on?*

Then Jaina's eyes lit up. *The elves! Lor'danil said the elves here were survivors of a previous cataclysm that buried half of Kalimdor, forming the three continents. I remember when he spoke to us later, demons were that cataclysm! Perhaps it is between the three of us that we could find a way to survive that either of us could not!* Then she paused. *I'm still not fond of the idea of working with those brutes though… Their war killed many of my family and friends not to mention the effect even suggesting we work with them will have on everyone else.*

"Shamen." Jaina spoke suddenly, the mental conversation with her companion only having lasted a split second. "Is here someone among your people who can scry for your warchief?"

"Scry, human?" the brutish spellcasters asked confused.

"Magic that lets you see and hear things a great distance away." She explained, voice impatient.

"Farsight." One of the orcs grunted. "Many shamen know this spell. It entreats the spirits of wind to carry sight and voice across great distances. If Thrall does not already know it I would not be hard for him to learn."

Jaina nodded. "Good. I'm going to release you." She said standing up. "And when I do, you will go to your Thrall and tell him to use his farsight on this place, for when he does I will use farsight on him. Then together, we shall speak. I'd rather just meet him, but I do' trust orcs and I know he feeling is mutual."


	7. Stormsurge

"It's beautiful…" Angelina Weasley breathed.

"Well, I'm not sure I'd say beautiful," George replied from his position over the city of Silvermoon "but it's definitely interesting, and certainly an improvement on the architectural magic's of Hogwarts."

His wife scowled at him lightly through the mirror, "are you calling our alma-mater ugly?"

"Of course I am," George replied with a cheeky grin "it's an early medieval fortress we just randomly retrofitted and enchanted to be a school! I loved my time there and often wonder what it would be like to go back, but there's no denying it was an eyesore."

A small trace of a smile crept across the face in the mirror. "Well, perhaps it wasn't quite my idea of the wonderful fairy tale castle either… Why not add that to your products list? You said they used something called the stoneflow enchantment?"

"Yeah, pretty much a transfiguration spell you write on the ground. It's got a pretty limited scope as far as transmutations go, but shape is completely altered on a whim. Remember how I was telling you about that apartment complex I was building underneath the city?"

Angelia nodded. "Dorms, great halls and workshops for the refugees, right? I remember."

"Yeah, well, I'd estimated it would take me a month or two to completely reform and enchant the place. Then remember the dragon mage Krasus's apprentice Ronin? He took a few days to study the runes I'd enchanted the first of each room with and my floor plan, and then the smug little bastard drew up a stone flow circle and completed all fifteen levels in an hour."

Angelina's eyes bugged out. "Th-that's p-powerful..." she stuttered.

"I know." George replied. "If I didn't know they'd learned to casually draw on wild magic as part of their standard education here the shit they do would make a guy feel completely inadequate."

"Aww… don' worry Georgie, you'll always be my favorite knuckleheaded dropout!"

"HEY!"

"On another note though," Angelina pushed on, grinning broadly through the mirror "people are beginning to ask questions and I'm not quite sure how to deal with it. I've had to stop the ministry from declaring you dead twice."

"Wait, what? When did this start?" George asked in alarm attracting the attention of a group of elves soaring past him on one of Kael's slow (only a hundred kilometers per hour max, really…) carpets.

"About the time Draco found out that you'd fallen through the veil." Angelina replied with a growl. "I don't know how he's done it with so many of his father's old network either dead or fired, but it appears the Ferret's been building the old power base back up, only he's being far more sneaky about it than his father ever was."

George changed the mirrors mode to project and laid it on the carpet so that Angelina's ghostly image was sitting in front of him and took a seat himself. "What have you been able to find out about that so far?"

"What Harry and I've been able to wring out of croaker is that he's taken Harry and Horace Slughorns proverbial books, read them and taken leaves out of them wholesale." Angelina explained looking almost impressed.

"You can't mean…"

"Yeah," his wife nodded "nobodies quite sure how he does it, but he'd been seeking out people in tight spots all over Brittan, pulling them out and then setting them up with other people who can help them recover and succeed. He's taken some pretty great lengths to do this too, even visiting other countries and recruiting the best and brightest foreign wizards. It's hardly altruistic though," she continued as George digested this information "every time he saves someone the after effect is that one of his companies makes money. For all the Malfoy's hate of Muggles they sure own a lot of muggle industry. At least according to croakers spooks…"

"What else do the boys at doom say?" George asked "I remember from my Hermione induced history binge that the Malfoys were pretty well connected in the muggle world before the statute of secrecy hit, muggle gold was how they went from French pig farmers to rich British purebloods aristocrat's after all."

"Yeah, well, from the looks of it they never stopped, they just covered their trails better."

"So their pureblood mania…" George asked a confused expression on his face.

"Oh, I wouldn't doubt that was real," Angelina countered "the ferret was a horrible actor when he was in school and I doubt he's improved much, but getting beaten by one half-blood, serving another and reading all about Rita Skeeters bashing of Dumbledore and the reveal that he was as much of a half-blood as Harry probably knocked some of that out of him."

"Yeah, I remember that…" George murmured. "What were all of her claims, again?"

"Half-blood, Slytherin, a poof pining after Gellert Grindelwald, killed his own sister for being a squib and was an up and coming dark lord in his own right before Grindelwald dumped him." Angelina rattled off with a grin, "Not that I cared enough to read it, mind you."

George smirked with her. "Sure you didn't… Hardly the point though, what to do about Malfoy and my status among the dead… Hmm. How widely spread is the knowledge about our family's acquisition of meta-morph blood?"

~! #$%^&*()_+

Varian Wyrn dodged a lunge from Lady Katrina Prestor and brought his sword around to try and cleave her back open. The blade struck home but despite the heavy enchantments woven through the metal and his own strength it only raced a thin shallow line of weeping red across the Nobel's prison garb. Matted black hair flying the former noble of Stormwind whirled around to rejoin the attack.

As the dance began again Stormwinds king wondered absently how things had gone so utterly pear-shaped.

…Scratch that, he knew exactly what had happened, he was simply having difficulty as he tried to fathom _how._

Thirteen days ago one of Dalaran's rogues had come to his city looking for something. When he hadn't found it the man had prepared to leave, only to get caught in the middle of a riot. As if the situation weren't violent ad chaotic enough as was, the sorcerer had gone into a violent rage and began throwing curses into the crowd. The cumulative effect of his spells had halted the riot and allowed Varian and Tiffin to air the situation with the public, but had left the square in shambles even now as his own court wizards worked to remove the marsh plants, fauna and brackish water.

At the urging of his beautiful wife and against his better judgment he had followed the spell caster's advice and called a summit of all of his Nobles. Somehow he'd been able to keep the wizards words quiet until everyone had gathered and charged them to put forth the promised amounts. Surprisingly without the presence of Lady Prestor more than half of the resistant highborn had agreed with little more than a firm, reasoned, demand and a glare. The rest however continued to deny him and he had them arrested on counts of lesser treason, stunning the entire assembly and causing quite a bit of screaming. Not that it helped them... they still got a week in the stockades and their personal fortunes raided to cover the Guilds original contract. The stone masons had been fairly disgruntled when he'd given them the agreed upon sum rather than anything further for the trouble they'd had to go through to be paid at all.

Things had started to become strange when Lady Prestor had woken from the curse the wizard, 'weasel' or something, had put her under. The nobles currently being held in the stockades and several of the others had identified the Lady Prestor as their leader in the stone masons debacle and offered evidence against the woman in return for protection and shorter prison stays. According to his assembled nobility, the woman was a sorceress of frightening power who had promised them a much freer reign over their lands than Varian himself had allowed and riches through conquest of the besieged and dying northern realms. It wasn't a bad plan, Varian and Tiffin had conceded; as bad as their troops missives placed things the only surviving northern powers were the isolationist Gil'neaus, Dalaran, Kul'Tiras and the wild hammer dwarves.

He paused in his thoughts for a moment as he used the flat of his blade to slap aside an odd misty green spell. He wasn't sure how the elves were doing. They had been one of the more recent casualties of the scourge but he had no troops within their borders to report to him.

Regardless, he had expected that when the treasonous had woken up he would have been called down to witness her rages personally. Instead she had been nearly as catatonic awake as she had been asleep. Over the next week and a half he had gotten reports from the magically shackled woman's guards that the nobles only complaints had been constant mutterings about how he food held no taste, the sunlight streaming through her window no warmth and its light dull. Curious, Varian had sent in one of his few mage physicians in to give the woman an exam, more worried about the curses lingering lethargy than for the dark haired bitch's health.

Varian had never gotten to find out what the spell affecting the Noble lady had done however as when his mage, Karl Stormspark, had arrived on scene to examine her strange lethargy there had been a pair of Stormwind guards there raping her.

Or rather, trying to.

It was an oft used and even more often looked down upon saying that 'you couldn't rape the willing' but in this case it actually held some weight. According to Karl while he had begun arguing with the guard's friend and preparing a fireball to use on one of them, Lady Prestors lethargy had rapidly begun to lift. Though neither Varian nor Karl understood what was happening the stimulation was reminding the dragon sorceress of the spell whose effects and withdrawal had put her in such a state in the first place. As the sensations built up an analogue to what she had felt earlier the noble had really gotten into the act until the point where the attacking guard had stimulated her into orgasm.

Lucky guard, right? Not so much… The pair of rapists had removed Lady Prestors magic inhibiting manacles, unknowing of their true purpose and feeling that they were in the way for their intended activities. When the gothic woman climaxed and her body went tense and rigid her legs clenched closed with all the strength of her true draconic form, crushing the guards torso, splintering his ribs, rupturing organs and nearly separating his spine. "A singularly horrible way to die," Karl had remarked to his king "but what a way to go!"

Seeing her… 'lover'… dead and lethargic no more Lady Katrina had launched herself at the other guard and proceeded to rape the screaming terrified man, turning aside Stormsparks attempts to save the would be rapist from his own rape without pause.

That had been mere hours ago. The sorcerer physician, deciding that digression was the better part of valor had retreated quickly less he become the next victim and alerted the warden and Stormwind guard before rushing to find Varian. Now the young king danced through the upper level of the prison stronghold trading blows with the woman who had slaughtered her way through half of the prison guard on her way out, only missing the rest due to his own timely arrival and the remaining guard's cowardice. …Or perhaps common sense, Varian was still debating.

"Damn it you light cursed conjurers," the king roared as he once again parried a quickly cast fireball against his broad swords "why isn't she contained yet!?"

"Our apologies, liege," one of the dozen or so mages who'd been summoned from their district replied as they continued casting "the Lady Katrina is proving to be far more resilient than we'd expected! There's no way she's human!"

"Well if she's not human, then what is she?" he bellowed back as he tried in vain to hamstring her.

"She's a dragon of course." Drawled an unfamiliar voice behind the group. Katrina Prestor gave an inhuman growl and broke off her attack, backing down the steps into the stockades as the ring of city guards and mages parted to reveal a figure in a maroon cloak. "Hello, Onyxia, how was your rest?"

He got a snarl in response. "What are you doing, mage? Are you insane?"

Medivh looked back at the king and smiled. "Just a little." He offered glibly gesturing with his fingers a few centimeters apart. "Lady Katrina Prestor" he said gesturing to the slowly growing woman "is the black dragon princess." He explained calmly, causing most of his audience to draw back in alarm. "Normally dealing with her would be difficult, even for one such as myself, but she's in shock right now," he said turning to look at the slowly growing woman, black scales flowing up and down her body like water "practically feral."

"What do you suggest then, wizard?" asked Wryn, raising his blades to the ready.

"Rejoice, for very bad things are about to happen…"

~! #$%^&*()_+

George Weasley woke up to the sound of a massive explosion. As the room his was began to shudder like Hermione on espresso he leapt out of bed and transfigured his nightclothes into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Snatching up his dragon hide long coat and retrieving his wand from the pocket he twirled on the spot and apparated to street level.

The city was in chaos. Like an ant house come kid had had the gall to step on people flowed through the streets and tower bridges in a river of humanity, shouting back and forth. The city was under attack, that much was clear from the armored activity and steams of energy flowing off the windows and balconies of the city, but by what was unclear. Looking to the skies George saw faint outline of the cities shields, both pink anti undead and golden anti demon, glowing faintly against the rising of the dawn. Then the city shook again and a green cloud of power blossomed against the eastern face. As demonic fire fought holy light the air rang like a gong and the city rattled, cracks spider-webbing themselves across the towers and small chunks of stone falling here and there through the streets.

Raising his wand the redheaded wizard cast a silent bludgeoner at a particularly large chunk that was about to fall on a group of elves wearing funky red and gold armor. The group of them held their shields aloft as the slab shattered into dozens of smaller chunks. "Sinu a'manore, malanore!" one of them shouted as they group passed. George nodded and took it and the smile to be some sort of thanks.

Watching scores of elves taking to the skies again on Kael'thas' imitation carpets George pulled out his own and set for the edge of the city. As began to near the limit of the pulsing golden aura George first saw them. _Demons_! He thought, caught between horror and fury. Standing somewhere between seven and ten feet tall, he couldn't tell because of the crouching motion of their flight, the creatures looked vaguely like chestnut furred Minotaur's with flattened face, enormous black draconic wings and sparse poorly covering armor that, while covered in gold filigree, seemed to drink in light.

As if sensing Georges scrutiny the beast turned toward him, bellowed something and dove into a steep glide, heading straight for him. It plunged into the golden glow of the mages conjured holy aura, sickly green and black energy that hurt to look at swirling violently against gold and white as the creatures skin charred and blackened. Maneuvering his carpet out of the way George let loose with a disemboweling curse, spilling the creature's guts to the wind and allowing it to turn quickly to ash and bones under the normally healing, calming energies of the light.

George however wasn't alone in his battles, as Bori Sparkaxe's runemaster colleagues and the military arm of the high elves took to the skies, human, gnomish and dwarven spell casters, archers and riflemen took to the roofs and balconies of the violet citadel to add their own firepower to the mix. Within the grasp of the pink and golden stars the invading winged hoards fell like skeet at a muggle turkey shoot, but outside the barrier the fighting was significantly fiercer. Arrows, mundane or enchanted, failed to pierce the rich blood red hide, bullets left only welts and spells meant to rend flesh and turn bone to splinters merely wounded.

The creatures wielded flaming scimitars and whips that looked as if they had been made of linked finger bones and hummed with a sinister dark red light that seemed to whisper as George observed it. As the forces gathered within the city struck back against their attackers, quickly organizing just within the barriers and focus targeting the winged monstrosities that refused to or had yet to enter, George couldn't help but at how utterly stereotypical the demons forms were. From the coven hooves and red skin to the bat like wings and ugly snoutish mockery of a human face where the eyes glowed like hot coals. This was the visage every culture dreamed up at one point or another when the subject of demons was broached by one group or another. Was it possible demons had invaded earth before? If they had it might explain the fall of Atlantis, the veil that connected to the nether and why this all seemed so desperately cliché.

_Cliché's occur when something traditional becomes a bad joke_ his mind whispered _and as we always say, one bad joke deserves another! This calls for the classics…_

Whipping out his wand George cast and overpowered cleaning charm at the face of a nearby demon, watching in satisfaction as it began choking on the suds suddenly filling its mouth and nostrils. Often enough used as a form of discipline by some of the older teachers or torture by Hogwarts students who had airs or sophistication, George had learned that scourgify ignored Azerothian shield spells due their supposed status as a non-dangerous spell effect, even bypassing natural resistances or immunities to various types or sorcery possessed by one race or another.

A few quick body binds and summoning charms took out move demons before another near atomic explosion of putrid dark green fire boiled against the peaceful gold stars of the anti-demon aura surrounding the city. George stumbled and backed away swiftly as the violent opposition between the differing frequencies flowed his way, splashing across the leading edge of his carpet and melting it like a strong acid. When the fighting powers receded and his view of the battlefield cleared again George quickly scanned the battlefield for possible sources of the attack.

As another of the massive black and green flame strikes battered itself against a section of shield several hundred feet to his right George saw that the attack looked not so much like a fireball as a giant clawed palm, trying first to dig into the barrier towards a tower and then pressing against it like the palm of some titanic being. "**Kikkertsikte" **he barked his wand moving in a circle that started at the bottom and then a triangle encompassing that. An area of air in front of him shimmered and hardened, the magic of the spell acting like the lens of a looking glass or scope, magnifying the light in front of the wizard and highlighting the runoff of the magic's as he watched yet another strike of viridian flame crash against the citrine hued shield-wall. Turning his head slowly he followed the wispy tendrils of power back to their source and froze. There, crouching atop a hill was the grey demon goat-man he'd attacked when first arriving on the planet.

The creature knelt, bent almost double over a floating, sandy representation of Dalaran, which he was playing with like a child in a sand box. As George focused on the creature it looked up at him, showing the same uncanny prescience of its smaller minion. वे मितआगीन_**, **_सोर्सिरेर_**.**_ यौ विलनोट एस्चपेमी ठिसतिमे_**.**__ We meet again, sorcerer. You will not escape me this time._ George was uncertain how he understood what the monstrous creatures gravel gargling language meant, but shuddered as the implication that it recognized him and considered his actions personal crashed down on his shoulders.

"Bloody, hell." He breathed, swallowing heavily as the blood slowly began flowing to his face again. Pulling out a mirror he called into it. "Hermione, Harry, come in, I've got a Ragnaroc level situation here! Need advice!"

Within seconds two figures appeared over the mirror, one cloaked and hooded with glowing green eyes peering out at him and the other in jeans and a tank-top, her d-cup breasts momentarily distracting him with how his friend had grown over the years. "We're here for you, George." "Standing by, Loki, what's the sitch?"

"The demons are back and I haven't managed to convince the leaders to head for the holdout position yet." George explained hurriedly, sending out half a dozen fox patroni to the council members. "What's worse their leader's followed them. Remember that guy I told you about earlier who took a Fiendfyre to the face with only second degree burns? Yeah, he's here and taking it personally." He said as the mentioned demon lords attack shifted from trying to crush the towers to dropping burning green meteors on the city. Some of the burning rocks came in too steep and ricoched off the yellow white bubbles surface, but enough of them made it through that the mage city had to divert casters to investigate, shield or counter the missiles; again, a much easier task done once the jade projectiles had passed the within the holy aura than prior.

"If the demons can shrug off a Fiendfyre…" Harry replied, sounding uneasy "have you perhaps considered casting the Ragnaroc upon him?"

"_You can't possibly be serious!_" Hermione hissed furiously before George could respond.

"The Ragnaroc?" George cut in before Harry could defend himself. "I thought that was the name of an event, not a spell."

"It's not!" Hermione spat furiously, glaring at Harry. "The Ragnaroc is a spell chain, combining Fiendfyre with another similar spell developed in Scandinavia called the Fimbulwyntr. It's Fiendfyres opposite and one of the few things that can counter the spell. They're both extremely dark and difficult to control."

"Used properly they can also support each other." Harry added grimly. "The story of Ragnaroc is about the return of chaos and is heralded by the skies turning to ice and while the ground boils with fire. According to a ghost crystal the boys at DOoM unearthed in the mid seventeen hundreds the story of the Ragnaroc and how it presaged the end-times is the bastardized retelling of a great battle against a massive army of demons during the cataclysm where the war-mages cast the spells in tandem and use the properties of convection to fuel a synergistic effect."

At Georges look of confusion Hermione explained. "It's the nature of cold air that it wants to fall to earth," The bushy brunette said, calming down significantly as she went into lecture mode "and the nature of hot air to rise away from it. Tornadoes and firestorms are formed when cold air high in the atmosphere combines with rising hot air of a forest fire or simply a particularly well heated patch of sunny earth. As the cold air descends the fast moving hot air begins to curl around it forming spiraling winds that build sympathetic support and gain strength so long as there is a difference in the temperatures of the moving wind. Since both spells are vampyric they'll persist and grow stronger so long as the demons there, feeding not only off him, but each other as well, where if you fired them at each other they would simply fight over who got the local energies until there was nothing left and they canceled each other out."

George nodded, already seeing how the concept could be applied to a number of other things.

But there would be time for inventing later, for now there was a city whose survival was measured in hours. "How do I cast the spell?"

"You can't honestly be considering this George!?" Hermione burst out as Harry began demonstrating the pattern and pronunciation. "This things as likely to kill you as it is the demon!"

"I don't got a whole lot of other option, 'Mione," he replied turning the mirror to face the battle field where Archimonde was now batting aside star-falls and lightning bolts from the middle of a firestorm. "Unless you've got an idea that they've missed."

The ghostly image of the bushy haired brainiac huffed and crossed her arms under her breasts as George finished copying down Harry's ongoing explanation on performing the Finbulwyntr. "Fine! If you're going to insist on being a suicidal gitt, the least I can do is make sure you survive to get an earful about it from Angelina. Use the flame freezing charm on your cloths. With them throwing around space rocks and lightning bolts the impervious charm wouldn't go amiss either." She rattled out, sounding more like the professor she as always meant to be. "This creature is powerful so you CAN NOT be hit by it. Rapid apparitions are a must. I'd suggest firing the Fiendfyre and Fimbulwyntr's at least twice, more convection currents and synergies there are the better chance you have of stopping this guy, or at least distracting him long enough to take the city and escape. Teleport above his head and fire the first Fimbulwyntr into the sky, then move again beneath him and fire one up into his arse, where the goat legs meet that tail of his." She continued, George grinning savagely as he committed her instruction to memory. "Then, while he's distracted, return to his head and fire the first Fiendfyre at his face; right in his mouth or nose if you can manage it, better if you can do it as he breathes in so the fire fills his lungs and takes his breath away. The last one you should fire at the ground below his feet. That should give the airborne Fimbulwyntr enough time to have consumed a few of the airborne demons and started descending. I'd also recommend firing a Typheus at his chest and back, but you don't have enough time to learn two such horridly complicated spells just now. When all of this is done I want you to return to the city, co-opt the flying diagram and get everyone out of there! This monster threw off a Fiendfyre in the middle of an energy dimension, this attack you and harry are planning isn't going to do much more than piss him off and slow him down!"

George nodded, face serious and already following his friends instructions. "What's the Typheus?" he asked, already having suspicions.

"It's the Greeks version of the grasping element attack." Harry replied with a deep expression of respect as he looked, not at George, but Hermione. "Named for one of their gods, it creates a windstorm that will pick you up in the middle of a tornado, cut you to pieces and then use lightning to fry anything that's left until there IS nothing left. Adding it to the Ragnaroc chain is about as inspired as you can get, 'Mione, I'm in awe…"

"Don't be," the former granger grumped irritably. "They're horridly dark and practically suicidal spells. You better come back from this, mister, or I'm going to find my own way to that Azeroth and bring you back just so your wife and I can kill you ourselves!"

George merely beamed at her and vanished with a crack.

~! #$%^&*()_+

Jaina Proudmoore, first daughter of the three hundredth Grand admiral of the Kul'Tiras nodded in satisfaction as she observed the construction of the third fallback point. Due to the nature of their magic sped construction the stout citadel was one solid piece of stone. Standing only a story over the northern face of the ascent towards the peak, the walls to the south east valley and west south western approaches stood nearly four stories each of murder holes, heavily warded and trapped tunnel gate. The top was a mess of tiered, crenellated parapets designed to shelter mages and archers as they cast quick fireballs with a gesture or long complicated battlefield spells meant to tear apart thousands of troops at a time. The legion might get through eventually, but her magisters had calculated this places entire construction to ensure that it cost them. The only way this fortress would go down would be to wide scale demolition magic's.

_Whuff_. The buxom blond turned around to see her giant alien wolf, Sirius, padding up silently.

"Is it noon already?" she asked, looking up at the sun and blinking owlishly. Receiving another woof she turned away from her inspection to peer out over the valley. Igniting a bit of magic at the tips of her index fingers the mage queen began tracing symbols in the air, solidifying it and turning it into a looking glass. On the other side was a bluff surrounded by waves of golden grass stood a figure in black matte heavy plate armor with bronze edging. The man was tall, nearly six feet, but hunched over as if he bore a great weight or was used to sneaking along, crouched. His visage was markedly similar to a human, but only so much as the parallels between the modern man and a great ape. The final differences were his green skin and short pointed ears. The figure took from his side a massive one handed war-hammer of black obsidian which began to glow and spark with electricity. Holding it in front of him with both hands, the figure closed his eyes and began moving it in small, slow circles.

"Human." It grunted after a few moments.

"Warchief." Jaina replied.

"Why have you followed us to this land, mage? We left, could you not be content with that?" Thrall asked, grimly.

"Considering you left years ago and showed up here after I'd already make my way inland, I'd hardly call it following." The leader of the alliance refugees replied, crossing her arms, a long silver staff gripped in one hand. "Now, about this raven spirit that sent you…"

The orc glared at her. "It wasn't the raven spirit and you know it, human." The Warchief cut her off. "After all, he was one of yours."

Jaina laughed sadly for a few seconds. "No, not one of mine." She replied. "Human, perhaps, but he is a shape shifter, so there are a great many things he could be. Including this raven spirit your shaman were so certain of."

This gave the orc pause. "It… is… possible." He acceded slowly, nodding his head. "That still leaves the question of what we are to do now. Our factions have no love for one another and with good reason so I have little interest in negotiating with you. However my people need to visit the oracle at the summit your people are blocking and I'm not sure my forces are enough to push you out just yet. Besides which, I led my people here to escape war with the humans, not continue to fight it."

"Have you ever considered saying please?" She interjected snidely, rubbing one of Sirius ears and drawing attention to the great canine as he sat down heavily and began panting, his eyes rolling up slightly.

"And bow to a human?" Thrall snorted harshly. "Hardly. No orc shall ever bend their knee to the alliance, not so long as I am Warchief, nor shall any other friend of the hoard."

"Then it seems we are at an impasse." Jaina replied. "I cannot allow a known enemy to walk through my gates armed and you cannot stow your pride."

Before the Warchief could respond however a frost wolf scout rode up to him and whispered in his ear. It was Thralls turn to laugh now. "Hardly, girl. I have already begun to arrange alternate transportation to the summit! Just keep your people out of my way and there need be no bloodshed betwixt us."

"Alternate transportation?!" Jaina asked harshly, her face becoming far more serious than before. "What kind of alternative transportation. If there is some path your people could traverse to reach behind our lines then the demons could as well!"

Thrall, in the middle of expressing his amusement at the human's outburst, froze. "Demons?"

Jaina rolled her eyes. "Why do you think we left and immediately set up advanced fortifications here, Orc?" she replied. "Your race was merely the Burning Legions first offensive! Their second attempt took the form of a plague of the animated corpses of our friends and allies killing us in our own homes. The prophet told me before I set sail that the undead were little more than the precursor for the legions true entrance to our world. If you truly hold some other route through my mountains I must demand that your people fortify it behind you! Or make it unusable at the very least!"

"And if I say no?"

Jaina's eyes grew cold, but it was the wolf beside her that responded**. Then I will find you and erase the path beneath your feet, warrior** the great beasts 'voice' rumbled through the farsight spell. **Your spirit is as noble as it is fierce and unyielding, Thrall. It would be a shame to tear out the throat of such a worthy pack alpha.**

Thrall stared at the gigantic hound for a long moment before speaking. "My scouts have informed me of a Goblin outpost, Lo'Gosh." He replied finally. "The inhabitants craft balloon boats that sail the skies and appear eager to trade their service for trinkets my hunters recovered from the horse and pig men."

Jaina visibly relaxed and nodded in understanding. "A lone zeppelin will not hold more than five passengers unless these are significantly sturdier than I've seen previous." The blue eyed blond thought out loud. "If you limited yourself to a single score honor guard I could meet you at the summit with my own and we might delve it's depths without undue bloodshed." She offered.

The Warchief thought about it for a long time before nodding. "Agreed. But we'll be watching you human; and I shall be bringing my most formidable companions. If this is an attempt at betrayal you shall find us sour prey."

The sorceress queen nodded. "I expect and offer nothing less." She returned. "And by the way, my name is Jaina. Jaina Proudmoore."

~! #$%^&*()_+

Anveena looked up startled from where she was reading about the history of her new family. Between her and her father stood a beautiful moonbeam white fox that radiated joy, love, lust and contented peace. The half-elf transformed dragon reached out for the creature as it looked towards her father's guise as Krasus only to stop, caught off guard as it spoke with a human voice. "Councilor! Dalaran is under attack! It's the titanic grey goat man I told you about when I arrived. Cry havoc and loose the dogs of war!" it dispersed with a exhilarated laugh, completely at odds with the aura and magic that had produced it.

"Bor-el?" the young dragon asked, looking at the man imploringly.

"Stay here, Anveena." He replied firmly, sending books flying back to their shelves with a flick of his wrist and his form beginning to ripple with transformation. "The legion has returned and it is time to fight. Stay safe, you're far more important than you realize." With that his wings completed their transformation and the crimson leviathan blurred forward, amidst a strong rush of displaced air.

Anveena narrowed her eyes as he left. He didn't have to treat her like a fragile child, she groused, standing up. Closing her book beneath her right arm she held up her clenched left fist allowing it to burn with soft blue white flames, sparking with random motes and streamers of violet and white-gold. For nine thousand years she had protected the world from the legions and its forces as a nebulous guiding force, now thanks to her father she had a chance to take deliberate action and he wanted her to hold back? No, she shook her head in determination as she turned to run in the direction of the faint tremors telling her of the peril the city faced, she could appreciate the need for digression but inaction could not stand, not when the city was loaded to capacity with those her existence had been forged to protect. She had failed as a guiding presence, she would not, could not, fail now when she was so much more!

As she burst out of the great library her steps were matched by the ones she had once believed to be her mother and father. "Dear, what's wrong?"

Her father, well-muscled before, had lost his grand jolly belly, though his cheery smiling countenance and ursine figure remained quite intact. In place of his former costume of vest, shirt and heavy pants was a set of heavily runed segmented plate armor and a pair of blade edged kite shields. Her mother similarly captured her former essence while presenting a more streamlined, combat ready form, save that she wore the nearly ornamental mage weave robes of a priestess or sorceress rather than armor designed for a maximum fusion of protection and flexibility. On the now slimmer woman's hips rested a pair of bladed, glowing chakram, causing the former energy being to smile at the oh so familiar pull on her magic.

"The city is under attack, ma, pa; I've defended the people who joined it with me my whole life, I can't stop now!"

"Why would we stop you?" her mother figure asked; voice light and genuinely confused as she ran beside and slightly behind her. "So long as we're nearby to keep you safe I see no reason you can't go out and play with your friends!"

Anveena smiled warmly at the familiar sentiment. Her memories claimed that they had always been like this and she was glad that at least had not changed. She laughed happily and sped up, her 'parents' easily matching her pace. Looking up briefly she saw a flight of elves, on carpets moving in a V formation to intercept a swarm of monstrous winged creatures. _Doomguard!_ A quiet voice whispered in the back of her mind, a scene of millions of the same creatures pouring out of a great swirling sea of energy and a great sense of loss and betrayal flashing across the surface of her mind.

Acting on a whim the blond sprouted wings of red scale and leather before taking to the air. She felt slightly bad about leaving her parents behind her, but felt foolish moments later as they joined her in flight, her father rocketing past her, shields flashing as he alternately blocked attacks by the flaming weapons of the demons currently locked an aerial dogfight with the elves and slashed into them with the edges. She joined in with golden white beams of power, healing elves that became caught in the trailing edges of the blasts while turning the burning demos to ash. A scream echoed behind her and the young drake turned around to see the disintegrating corpse of another demon about to crash against her, only to be torn apart by brilliant disks of light.

Putting a hand to her mouth in shock at the close call she followed the path of the disks to her mother's hands. "Go on, dear, be safe and teach those naughty demons a lesson!" she said cheerily. Grinning back fiercely she heaved against the air with her wings and shot after another doomguard, firing bolts of light at the attacking corruption. Between her holy arcane bolts and the efforts of the elven survivors the swarm was quickly cleansed.

"When did the flights join the alliance?" one of the elves asked her in Thalassian.

"We haven't." she replied, softly, flitting down to shine some healing light down on a few of the still wounded spell breakers. "The red flight never left Dalaran." She said, moving to an archer with a festering demonic wound on her arm. "My father's family was devastated by their enslavement under those horrid orcs, but he's been on your archmages council since the city was formed." She looked up at the gathered elves shocked expressions as she finished up and checked them for other injuries. "Come, we still have much to do!" she finished, beaming before leaping from the carpet and soaring towards the next battle, her parents rising to flank her.

Flapping her wings strongly Anveena tried not to enjoy the sensation of flight too deeply as she swooped, soared and dove through the battle that gripped the city as she drew ever closer to the edge of the city where her father and the rest of the councilors were fighting the real battle. She could feel the sheer power of their spells, even if she couldn't understand what they were doing beyond the obvious effects. Spiraling through a mess of winged horrors at the edge of the shield Anveena tore into the flaming creatures, dashing their already burning essences to the winds as she defended a red haired half-elf who stood, flying in the middle of the carnage chanting, protected by little more than the burning aura of her own power. The dragon girl was about to move off and help someone else when she felt the girls power pulse, not out towards the battle, but up towards the heavens.

Curious she circled her quasi fellow half-elf. What was she doing? It was… familiar somehow, but then what magic wasn't? She'd assisted countless sorcerers over the eons to perform their arcane will, but what was this one doing. Acting on instinct she allowed her senses to follow the next pulsed as it few towards the heavens. Then she saw it, the woman was pulling down rocks, really, really big rocks! From the sky! Anveen watched in awe as her senses traced earlier uses of the sorceress's magic, feeling it in the descending meteors that devastated the swarming masses of winged demons, blowing them away like bowling pins with each explosive impact.

"A-are you go-oing to fly t-there and do n-nothing-g or are y-you going to defend me?" the girl grunted opening blazing green eyes to look at her, as several comets changed course to attempt to plow through thicker masses of their enemy. Anveena nodded sharply, a deep sense of respect in her gaze as she flapped off to strike down more creatures beyond the edge of the faint golden glow. Bolts of magic flew from her hands, carving through demon after demon as her parents flew around her in tight circles, handling the creatures she, in her inexperience, missed.

**Fimbulwyntr!**

The voice, soft and furious, none the less covered the distance between miles of furious battle. Above the head of a monolithic demon, who looked as if it was standing mere feet from her despite the miles of separation, a blizzard blossomed. But it wasn't a blizzard like she was familiar with from thousands of years of elven and human war-mage's drawing on her for power, as the dull, angry white could spread across the sky creatures began to form and writhe in the snowy flakes. Demons screamed as they charged forward to attack the apparent elemental conjurations, only to be consumed by them and fall in a frozen rain as their magic was consumed to fuel the bitter cold.

**Fimbulwintr!**

The spell came again, and the 'titanic grey goat-man' roared in fury as more dull grey white clouds of frost blossomed around his legs and tail. Angry blood red energy that dripped like blood wreathed the demons clawed hands as it batted and grasped at the forming snow beasts, crushing the life from one only to have two more sink their teeth into his thighs and fingers. It roared in pain and challenge, words that she couldn't understand and hurt her head to hear. There was a wetness running down her cheek and she touched her ear to find blood oozing from the hole.

**Fiendfyre! **

A blinding, putrid yellow and orange light burst forth, obscuring the demon lord's face, consuming the mages firestorm in an instant and already birthing its own creatures to snap and bite at Archimonde and other nearby flyers.

**Fiendfyre!**

The voice came again, this time accompanying a light from below the monster, between its house sized cloven hooves. Serpents and wolves of sickening multicolored plasma leapt and charged and tumbled out from the point of origin, greedily consuming the foul magic's of those demons still on the ground and curling up the legs of their master. It was horrifying to watch and yet, thrilling to witness. Spells that consumed spells, and released corrupted elemental beasts to prey upon demons! Even as the assembled remains of the northern kingdoms watched in sick fascination as their tormentors were consumed the question on Anveena's mind was who could have cast such an obviously dark spell, and why?

She never got her answer, as there came a rush of blue light behind her and the streets of Dalaran lit up with cyan and violet runes, tracing a path around the outer edges of the violet citadel and grabbing hold of its inhabitants. Then there was a sense of motion and tugging around her stomach and the world disappeared.

~! #$%^&*()_+

Kael'thas Sunstrider and the rest of the council of six stood in the flight chamber, looking down at the smoking form of George Weasley. "Impressive." The elf muttered, tapping the smoking man with an elegantly booted foot.

"And growing more dangerous by the day, it seems" added in Drenden.

Krasus snorted. "Don't be ridiculous, he's always been this dangerous and more. The six of us are by requirement among the ten most dangerous beings in Azeroth."

Modera smacked him lightly against the back of the head. "You and your melodrama. For a ten and more millennia old dragon one would think you'd be less sarcastic."

"I'd dare say the more important question is where he took us. Navigators, what did he say when he showed up here?" Sunreaver demanded.

"He teleported into room with us wafting smoke like a green twig fire" squeaked one of the navigators, a female gnome. "As soon as he landed he stabbed his wand into an indent I'd never noticed in the center of our diagram and shouted 'portus'!"

The human mage standing in the other point of the triangle nodded. "I'm not sure what the spell was, but he moved the city nearly three thousand miles in the space of a second without opening a portal. I'm honestly kinda jealous. His master must have been a real terror to work for if he can do things like that without any need for preparation!"

"Don… 'ave… master…"

Everyone looked down to the figure on the floor as the foreign mage shifted weakly.

Andrea rushed forward from behind Kael'thas, conjuring a sparkling mage-water as she rolled the red-haired wizard over onto his side and lifted his head. "Here" she said "don't try to speak, just drink." She said softly, pouring the energy laden liquid slowly into his mouth. "You've run yourself to magical exhaustion. You're lucky your body didn't go into overload, but I suppose that's the difference between our cultures." The half elf murmured as he drank.

"So," The elven navigator spike up, interrupting the tender scene and earning himself a glare from Andrea "What were you saying about masters?"

"In my world, we don't have masters and apprentices." George replied, voice still scratchy, but a lot stronger than before. He took another drink and continued. "Well, I suppose that isn't entirely true, but apprenticeship is rare nonetheless. On earth we've got grand academies for each countries mages to gather and learn from a small collection of teachers. Since our spells allow us to do literally anything you can imagine, though on a significantly smaller scale than I've seen during my time here, most of our population studies and creates on their own, writing books that are distributed by bookstores rather than open libraries. The two most common professions in my world are farmer and crafter followed distantly by government stooge and other jobs to support or utilize the rest of the economy. The magical academy I went to was called Hogwarts. There were a dozen professors, but I was one of your problem students, my brother an me, mavericks, too smart for our own good!" he laughed weakly.

"As fascinating as this is," Aethas interjected "I still want to know where you've taken us."

"Oh, that's simple!" squeaked the little gnome. "We're floating over an island chain in the forbidding sea 8041 and a half kilometers east from where we started in Quel'thalas! The two main islands together are roughly the size of Quel'Danas, in case you were interested!"

"I was trying to turn the city into a portkey to take us to Kalimdor." George explained. "From the looks of things though, I didn't have enough power left to take us the whole way. We should be close though, I figured that since the world is round and Kalimdor was supposed to be on the other side of the sea from the maelstrom that going the other way might be faster than trying to drag us across the whole of Lorderan, the blood sea and the maelstrom itself to reach an uncharted continent."

"Well," replied the human navigator "The coastline of a fairly large landmass _is_ on the edge of my sense, about three, four hundred miles to the east. At maximum calculated speed the flight matrix should be able to get us there in an hour or two, unless the honored council would prefer some other course of action?"

Modera nodded and stepped forward slightly. "Dalaran is weighed down with nearly twenty million inhabitants between the eleven we picked up in Quel'Thalas and the seven and a half we picked up on our rush across Lorderan. Our city is only built to handle two million permanent residents and while our citizens are coping with the massive food and water conjurations needed to sate the new populace overcrowding was becoming a major issue before our recent stop in Quel'thalas." She explained clearly, her grandmotherly tone of concern and authority bulldozing its way through the two elves furious glaring. "Since the vast majority of our refugees are civilians in no condition to stand on the front lines of a battle for our world I'd suggest leaving them here with a few magically constructed cities and protections."

When the other councilors couldn't come up with a quick rebuttal to her proposal she smirked openly and continued speaking. "Since Danil Sunsparrows Holy aura spell worked so well in our recent defense against a full blown demon lord and his winged legions I'd like to propose a seawall around the islands bearing the runework for an updated version of the same spell. I think it would be great PR for us that people know the holy light can be wielded just as easily by mages as by their vaunted priests and paladins in addition to subtly beating them over the head with the idea that their safety is provided by the magical population they've so long held in low regard."

"How would you intend to update it?" Ansirem Runeweaver asked spinning his rune covered staff around in his hands absently as he floated on his back above the rest of them.

"I was actually hoping to have your input on that, Ansirem. While the miasma shell approach worked well enough I find myself missing the stars these nights since our flight from the cities foundations. I was hoping for something quieter for day to day protection and more active should things be challenged. A semi-intelligent healing aura wouldn't go amiss either if you could manage it..."

"I think I know how I could go about it" the heavily bearded man nodded. "Tone down the active component of the shell by seventy percent and change the rune clusters to reactive runewords rather than constant draw effects. I think the effect will still leave a fairly impressive borealis at night, but you shall have your stars, madam Manathistle. I'm not too sure about the healing component though… perhaps a bit of script detailing a password by which the light would focus itself upon the speaker for a short time? The holy light is quite well known for its inherent healing and purification properties."

"Keeping with your push for propaganda" Kael'thas spoke up "the password for such an effect could be the name of one of our prominent mages. While cringe at the thought of letting it be a human, I'd like to put forth Antonidas for consideration. While I did not always agree with the man, he was one that everyone in this city held respect for and it's well known that he gave his life for the city. That would send a fairly powerful message connecting the idea of mages, wisdom, self-sacrifice and the holy light together."

The gathered mages looked back and forth between each other for several long minutes before nodded. George laughed softly and when they looked at him he explained. "It's nothing, given the princes reasoning I can't argue, I just found it funny that it totally dashed my plan to have the password named for a legendary figure from my world."

Krasus tilted his head to the side "Oh? Who would you have suggested?"

"Well," George replied, sitting up. "After the cataclysm on our own world a number of wizards gathered in the British isles where I'm from and tried to form a religion around magic use. One of the most famous users during that time was the high priestess of Avalon known as Morgan LeFey. The Fay are a well know race of shape changing elves on my world and Morgan's mother was one of them while her father was the human king Uther Pendragon. She and her lover and rival Merlin are still held in deific acclaim by wizarding society to this day for their sheer power and contributions to magic of the time."

"Your people revere a half elf as a goddess?" Aethas asked, incredulous.

George shrugged. "When a wizarding priestess reorders mountain ranges and makes entire islands disappear behind her magical shields us little wand wavers find ourselves impressed, elf. Many of the most powerful wizards in recent times on earth have been mixed blood."

Aethas and Kael'thas shook their heads. "Everyone in favor of Antonidas?" Henry Drenden asked.

"Aye." Sounded five voices. The rest of the council looked at Krasus who shrugged.

"No offense meant to our late colleague, but you're all just children in my eyes, Antonidas included. I liked Weasleys symbol of unity idea."

"Come, friends. We have a great deal to do and little time with which to accomplish it." Modera said, breaking the uneasy silence. "The navigators scrying gem shows mountain ranges on each island, but the southeastern one is almost entirely mountains. With a fair sized valley in the center. Do we want to split up the land between the races or just set up a single city and let people spread from there? It's a matter of time as much as ethnic politics."

Krasus stepped up beside the old woman and joined her in her observations. "There are settlements of bear-men on the two southern islands. That matched with the higher population of elves I would suggest giving the humans the northern island and the elven survivors the middle of the two if you decide to go that route. Personally though I'd suggest starting with the northern most island exclusively and transform that messy crag into a sprawling city with a large dock system and as many boats as you can quickly enchant. The fish around the islands are abundant whilst the fruit and game are not and farming would take too long. It's about thirty thousand square miles all told; and if carefully cultivated the three islands could hold our complete populations comfortably. But again, that will take time we all know we don't have."

"Weasley's model for the bowel apartments of Dalaran can be used again for basic population centers" Ansirem added "and I know a mage who enchanted his tower so that you could fly up and down its center shaft rather that have to climb endless stairs or add a simple portal. He could carry heavy luggage along with him too. That should be useful."

"Speaking of portals," George added, looking up from his glass "another way to subtly beat it into the populace's heads that magic is the big poo pah is to place portals in all of the major city centers, leading to and from each other. Not only will it be a convenient way to move across a city big enough to house twenty million it'll be simultaneously very obvious and quite easy to become accustomed to and forget, making the point all the more poignant when they try to leave the city and don't have a convenient portal to move them around." Everybody looked at him in astonishment, though some recovered from it quicker than others. "What? You kept on harping on about positive magical propaganda, and it's an idea I've been playing with for nearly a decade. The difference here is portals are easy for you people, where my world has largely lost the knowledge."

"It's a good idea." The Gnomish navigator piped up.

There were numerous nods and shrugs of ascent. "I suppose we better start drawing up a map." Drenden said. "I'll get the violet eye to start spreading the word around the old crowd, I'm sure everyone will have their own bits and bobs to contribute. I'm fairly sure I remember a magical architecture club a few decades back, doubtless a few of them are still hanging around and the gnomes and dwarves will want their own cavern workshops dug into the mess as well."

After that everything dissolved into a babble of conversation and plans. The red-haired shape shifter turned to his friendly neighborhood spy. "I'm exhausted, mind if I crash in your tower for a few hours?"

Andrea looked at him for a long moment before nodding. Seconds later the pair of them disappeared in a soft flash of blue white light.

~! #$%^&*()_+

Kiljaden looked down at his brother of thirty thousand years and laughed. _**This world truly is not your friend, brother. Twenty five thousand years of service to the legion and your every defeat has been here. How many worlds have we consumed, how many races turned to the banner of the legion? And yet you stumble before a mere human.**_

_BE STILL YOUR TONGUE, BROTHER.___ The master demons rasped weakly, his once booming multilayered voice limited almost entirely to psychic overtones as he sat on the head of the groaning Kazzak the Supreme. _EVEN WEAKENED AND TORN AS MY FLESH HAS BECOME BY THE RED HAIRED HUMANS ATTACK YOUR STRONGEST GENERAL STILL LIES BENEATH ME AS A PILLOW, RATHER THAN STANDING ABOVE ME A VICTOR. YOU MAY BE OUR MASTERS FINEST STRAGEGIST, SORCERER AND THE MASTER OF OUR INFINITE AGENTS, BUT I WILL ALWAYS BE THE PREMIERE LEADER, TACTICIAN AND WARRIOR OF OUR BURNING CRUSAIDE._

_**Yes, as your blistered and broken hide will forever attest…**_ the Man'ari leader sneered with amusement.

_MY INJURES WILL BE GONE SOON ENOUGH, CRETIN. WHEN I CONSUME THE KEL'DORI'S WORLD TREE I WILL BE NOT ONLY HEALED, BUT CAPABLE OF STANDING EQUAL TO OUR MASTER HIMSELF. _

The colossal demon snorted as he kicked the crushed corpse of a pit lord foolish enough to challenge the ruined Eradar in his weakness. _**Be careful your words, little brother. Arrogance will be your undoing, and I will be there to see it. Next time, try not to fall on your ass.**_


	8. Trough

AN: It's been brought to my attention that in the last chapter I did not stress the Dalarani mages powers and battle efforts enough in favor of George's 'Potter Charge'. I could easily have understated it; I don't think I did though I won't deny it's possible, but the upper level mages were casting single spells that took out thousands of doomguard and felguard at a time and the councilors and similarly skilled mages managed to be enough of a distraction to a major demon lord that he couldn't continue attacking the city for the need to defend himself from their battlefield spells. George's Fiendfyre and FImbulwyntr were so easy to overstate because at their base, they aren't powered by the caster, but by the level of magic in the area for them to feed off of. George cast these spells at point blank on a demon lord whose entire body is drenched with and oozes magic, in the middle of a magical firestorm, lightning storm meteor shower and various arcane attacks. That's an incredible amount of magic to super charge the spells and Archimonde STILL survived with little more than second and third degree burns and frostbite across half of his body. He even inhaled the first fiendfyre and still managed to not only squash all four spells but stop an insurrection led by his brother later. Archimonde is a BAMF and George did not defeat him. As for the portkey, check out Chekov's gun/armory on TVtropes and then reread my previous chapters…

~! #$%^&*()_+

Quote of the day: "The nine most terrifying words in the English language are 'I'm from the government, and I'm here to help'."

~! #$%^&*()_+

Varian Wrynn stared in awe at the devastation before him. His once great prison citadel, nearly a quarter mile square and three levels up and down, was _gone._ There was no rubble, no massive explosion damaging the rest of his precious city, it was simply Gone. In its place churning waters of the canal frothed and boiled under the weight of their futile attempts to quash the glowing magma that was all that remained of four thousand prisoners and their walls and wardens. Only one person had managed to escape from the depths of the chaotic rampage between this mysterious mage known only as 'the prophet' and Lady Katrina Prestor.

"Is there anything you can do for him, Benedictus?" the king asked solemnly.

The archbishop of Stormwind's Cathedral of Light sighed and rocked back on his heels, his white hair peeking out over his face and stuck there with sweat of his efforts. "I've managed to cleanse most of the corruption made by those ebon flames, sire, they no longer continue to consume his flesh and soul, but the wounds remain cursed, healing them will take more than I have. He'll not survive the night unless you wish to call a conclave of my subordinate priests and initiates to chant over him." Benedictus hesitated, as if wanting to say more, but stopped himself.

"What is it Father?" Tiffin asked, coming up behind her husband, using the priest's honorific and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder as she held the nursing Anduin to her breast.

"I know it's the nature of the light not to judge its children and provide succor to all, sire, but why does his highness wish this orc to be saved? There were many down there far more worthy of being spared…" he stopped again, cringing slightly at the look of disgust on his lords face.

"Because we were not the ones who chose the survivor and we need to know what went on down there," Varian said simply, not berating the man for his lack of perception. "This orc was thrown out of the fire towards one of my personal guard. If there wasn't purpose for his survival I'd have given the poor creature the mercy of a swift death. Now, I need you and your disciples to heal him enough so that he can be woken and debriefed, is that understood, priest?"

The man robed, hooded man stared at the dark haired ruler for several minutes before turning back to his patient. Varian stood there shocked as the priest placed shadow wreathed hands on the old orcs forehead and began chanting. The king quickly drew one of his swords and pushed his wife back, shielding her from the priest that used dark magic and placed the edge of the blade to Benedictus's throat.

"**Stay your blade, my king.**" The Orc spoke suddenly. "**I have seen the orcs purpose. The prophet wished to leave you a message. He apologizes for the loss of your prison and its inhabitants and wishes you to know that he came because he could not allow you to die today. He says you are too important to the time stream to fall because he made a mistake.**"

The Orc slumped again, his breathing far weaker than it had been before and Benedictus lost his shadowy countenance. "What is the twisting nether was that, priest!?" Varian asked sharply, lifting his sword slightly so that the blade lifted the man's chin and drew a thin line of blood to weep across his neck.

"It is an old priests spell, sire" the archbishop replied placatingly. "It's taught to those of us who perform last rites for our parish's, to allow the dying to give their loved ones last words. The minds of priest and supplicant become one for a brief time and our light bolsters them enough to say what they want before death takes them!" It was, in large part, a lie of course, but what the king didn't know wouldn't hurt Benedictus… or so the archbishop hoped. "the dark appearance of the magic is because we're draining large quantities of light at great speed to fuel the spell!"

Grunting, the black haired king removed the sword from his priest's throat and with a flourish, stabbed the orc in the heart, just millimeters from the archbishop's hand. "Return to your Cathedral, bishop." Benedistus did so as quickly as he could without seeming rude. This new more focused king was not someone he wanted to piss off.

"Tiffin, if our son ever takes the cloth I'll strike him down myself."

"Don't be like that dear," his wife said, taking his arm and leading him slowly back to the castle. "They're not all like that, you know the church has quite a long history of ups and downs, it's just human nature. Most of the lower ranks are quite personable and tolerant."

He grunted noncommittally before giving his wife a kiss and turning to cheerier topics. Things should be quiet for a while now; he had that to look forward to at least. Now, if he could only find Garona…

~! #$%^&*()_+

Days later and far away across the sea a giant raven flapped his wings heavily as he set down in the crater of an ancient caldera, a pale black haired woman in its claws. Letting Onyxia drop softly to the scorching earth Medivh flapped twice more and alighted beside her, transforming back to his human self. He conjured himself a padded soft leather lazy boy recliner he'd taken a liking too since he'd begun scrying the wizards planet. Stretching the reborn guardian groaned as numerous bones shifted in their sockets with heavy wet pops and crunching sounds. He wasn't particularly sure why he'd saved the black dragon princess after fixing Georges mistake, but something just told him that it would be a wasted opportunity not to.

The woman had the touch of prophesy about her but it was too muddled for him to determine what she might do. So many paths they all just mixed together, each as important as the last. What to do, what to do… Before George Weasley had visited Stormwind and driven her mad with a harmless spell randomly cast on her weak human form; not that she wasn't mad before… regardless Onyxia was set to cripple Stormwind and forge their king into a jagged thorium blade before having her life thirteen thousand year life suddenly cut short as a matter of revenge. Now Stormwind seemed set to remains strong and prosperous, though largely ineffectual on a global scale as they were forced to contend with Nefarion and his rather straight forward armies of orcs, gnols, Khobolds, dragons and science experiments instead of working to reclaim the northern kingdoms for the alliance, something they would have failed at anyways because of resistance from the hoard and scourge.

Shaking a bottle of sand absently in his right hand Medivh stared at the princess and contemplated time. The black dragon flight was, at the moment still set to be hunted down systematically by adventurers over the next decade, but that outcome had become slightly worn and unfocused in the stream of time. It was there, and likely, but no longer inevitable… was that perhaps the reason he felt the need to rescue rather than destroy the massive threat to a stable Azeroth? A stable brood mother could revitalize the flight and bring a rather unprecedented stability and revival to the planet, and a third female aspect would certainly shake things up… but when he tried to separate that time stream from the others swirling around the gothic pseudo human it just slipped from his figurative fingers and swam back to the other threads of possibility.

She would live just a little longer than the previous timeline, she would die much sooner, she would outlive every other creature in Azeroth, she would be a central figure for the next millennia, she would fade into obscurity in a century, there was even a flash of time where Onyxia knelt before Tyrande Whisperwind and received the mantle of a high priestess of Elune beside another where Sylvanus Windrunner plagued and raised her as an undead spelltank to spearhead her charge for revenge against Arthas Menethil. For a prophet determined to fix his old mistakes and ensure the worlds survival Onyxia had become a horrifyingly useful _loose __end__._

What to do, what to do?

~! #$%^&*()_+

A week later.

Jaina Proudmoore walked carefully through the forest that covered a bowl shaped depression shortly before the summit and the caves leading down. There was a great power here… several of them in fact, but who or whatever they were they had so far kept to the shadows of the thick scrub, allowing the sorcerer queen and her retinue of guards to pass unimpeded. She was thankful for that, but as the sense of power continued to gather on the edge of her sense she couldn't help but feel unnerved and spellhappy. All she'd ever wanted was to become a great magus, and perhaps a mother, respected for her knowledge and expertise, not as the one leader who stood as the voice of reason and pillar or strength for a dying world. She heard a soft whine and Gri…Sirius lay his massive head gently atop her shoulder. Reaching the hand not holding her battle staff up she wound her fingers into the fur just behind and below his opposite ear and pressed into his comforting bulk for a moment before continuing forward.

"This 'er fores' is unnatural," muttered one of the dwarves "it ain't righ'. Mark ma wards."

"Consider them marked." Drawled her high elf liaison, Lor'Danil.

Jaina's honor guard of one score, just as she had limited Thrall to, consisted of Three dwarven snipers led by Hrunting Wildhammer, a gnomish engineer riding a headless suit of armor, four elven rangers, three priests, two human and one dwarf under the leadership of bishop Skyleaf, Paladins Meer, Lionheart and Starfury, five mages she'd selected for their skill in battle casting spells and Lord Sirius Orion Black. Briefly she wondered what the Orc leader Thrall would bring. They passed through the forest quietly and without incident, thankfully, but the place was still giving her goosebumps. As they began to ascend the summit Jaina heard the chugging cough of Goblin machinery. It seemed the Orcs had arrived.

_Shrik-crack!_ Jaina stiffened at the sound of dwarven rifles being readied for fire and the hiss of arrows being drawn against their bow hafts. "Hold your fire!"

"Lassie?" one of the dwarves asked, looking at her with the same confusion as many in her group.

"I said hold your fire, if this is who I think then I invited them." She explained. "While I have no love for the… people… who will be joining us, they were sent here by the same prophet who prompted me to make our last stand here. If you want to have your weapons ready, I understand completely, but don't provoke them or act openly hostile."

There was a deep silence as the zeppelins began to descend before her guard and advisors began lowering their weapons and nodding in ascent. Jaina noticed that the rangers bows remained nocked, the snipers guns cocked and all manner of mele weapons were gripped tightly, but all were held loosely and pointed towards the ground. It wasn't perfect, and indeed made sense even, but she didn't wish to be a tyrant or potentially suicidal so she let it go. The Goblin craft slowly settled down and deployed their gang planks, linking the ships to each other with the final one landing with a clatter on a nearby ledge, providing the alliance party an easy target and the hoard a good position for their favored leaping strike blitz.

First off the linked airships was the Warchief, Thrall, ruggedly handsome in his shining black and bronze plate armor, actual semblance of grooming and human posture. "Lady Proudmore." The green, ape-jawed, human raised orc called out civilly in easy, if deep, common.

"Warchief Thrall." Jaina replied, nodding.

The second… person? creature? off the airship was a large blue skinned troll with the longest tusks Jaina had ever seen. The blue skin threw her slightly, never having seen any troll whose skin wasn't green. "'ow you doin, mon?" the creature said in a lazy voice, with a wave of his heavily decorated arm. "I be Vol'jin, warchief o de dakspear tribe, en friend o de Horde." Jaina inclined her head as a four other blue skinned trolls leaped and swung through the rigging of the goblin airships to land beside their leader.

The next off the airship was one of the enormous bullmen, the leader of which was wielding a small rune covered tree trunk. The creature stepped forward and took a pinch of some sort of power out of one of his pouches and cast it into the air with some soft grunting and bellows before speaking in deep, but unerringly perfect, common. "Greetings, Jaina. I am Cairne Bloodhoof, I speak for the Tauren. The orcs have put forth the effort to make us their friends, but I've noticed your people have avoided hostilities during your stay in our lands and for that you have my grace. May that we be friends one day and siblings in the great hunt."

Jaina actually smiled at this. Smiling, she flared a small bit of magic at the end of her staff and stabbed it into the ground before walking up and offering her tiny hand. The tauren tilted his head slightly before taking it gently in his massive paw. "I'd be interested in seeing that day, Cairne who speaks for the Tauren. I'd love to know how you cast that translation spell."

The old bull laughed aloud and Jaina missed the arrival of Cairne's personal guard, two druids, a shaman and a smaller tauren with breasts that carried a bow with javelin sized arrows. She took them in as she backed away into the embrace of her own group. The final ten members of Thralls entourage consisted of the blade master Grom Hellscream, four axe men, a pair of shamen and three huge white orcs. "Mok'nathal." Thrall said, noticing Jaina's curiosity, "Children of Orcs and Ogers and some of the fiercest, calmest and most honorable warriors I know."

Jaina nodded and gestured to Lor'Danil. "Lor'Danil, the leader of my elven forces." The mage tightened his grip on his bladed sorcerers staff but kept silent and nodded quietly towards Thrall, only showing open dislike when he caught sight of Hellscream standing behind and to the right of the group. "Duke Lionheart," she continued gesturing to the armored man "the leader of my paladins. Hrunting Wildhammer, the commander of my dwarven allies and Millhouse Manastorm and his five elements strike force." She finished, gesturing to the gnome.

"Lo'gosh." Grom rumbled, kneeling and placing gorehowl on the ground in front of him as he stared at the hulking form of Sirius.

This caught everybody's attention and it wasn't long before one of the tauren laughed loudly, his bellowing merriment startling all. The twelve foot tall shaman stepped forward to rub Sirius head, electing a pleased whine from the animagus. "Cairne, would you mind explaining this?" Thralls voice cut through the tension as everybody shifted uncomfortably and the red glow in Hellscreams eyes began to intensify.

"A ghost wolf he may be" the massive chieftain explained, amusement clear in his voice, "But Goldrinn himself? No, a grandson perhaps, or an avatar, for I sense great power from him; but Goldrinn stands tall as any great dragon and his association with the moon goddess Mu'sha has stained his fur permanently white, something the wolf god has never been able to shed, regardless his transformation. If I may ask, great wolf, what is your name?"

*Sirius* he replied, sending out a wave of magic so that he could catch everyone with the minor variant of legillimency and the entire crowd could hear him without the need for eye contact. Many clutched their heads as his voice rang not in their ears, but deep within their consciousness.

The five tauren lay down their weapons as well at this proclamation and Cairne spoke. "Greetings, Sirius, son of Goldrinn. You honor our hunt for the oracle with your presence."

"_the dog talks?_" "_Great Loa_" "_the hell was that?_" "_dark sorcery, will wizards never learn_" "_A ghost wolf, Maradin's beard, I thought they were myths!_" Jaina listened to the muttering of the large and very mixed group, taking it all in with a practiced ease and sighed. At least this was all easier to deal with than Dalarani intrigue. "It's probably best to get going, the prophets message was pretty urgent, I don't know what the situation is with the horde, but I'd have been here much earlier if I wasn't so busy setting up holdout points."

"De huuman be havin da right of it." Spoke Vol'jin startling most of the group. "If de sons o Goldreenn bein here den dis be serious hoodoo. We'd best be makin haste." With that the troll chief and his entourage leapt, loped and slunk into the shadows of the cave entrance, quickly becoming indistinct. After a moment of eyeing each other wearily the rest of the gathered races followed. Thrall however, held back with a hand on Cairne Bloodhooves elbow, the highest part of the creature the Orc could reach.

"High chief," the green skinned humanoid rumbled quietly causing Grom to pause at the cave entrance, listening intently "what just happened here?"

The minotaur looked down upon his new friend and ally solemnly. "There are many fire stories among my people about the sons of Goldrinn, Orc." Cairne rumbled just as quietly. "And in every one of them there is a great hunt. For the dog star himself to be here presages an event of great importance, but it may yet come to nothing." He explained as he walked into the mouth of the cavern. "We will not truly be in trouble unless the fox and dragon join him."

~! #$%^&*()_+

Astromancer Andrea Solus glanced up from her viewing bowls she was using to watch the formation of the alliance refugee city to ponder her renewed guest in George Weasley. The human had quite literally set up camp in her solarium with a tent she'd seen him use on occasion in one of the cities many hotels or parks. The entrance to the small circular circus tent barely large enough to properly lay down in was currently pinned open to reveal a space far in excess of the outer dimensions. Such spells were hardly unheard of here in the recently mobilized capital of sorcery and enchanting, even when mentioned in conjunction with tents, but the spells took hours to set up and demanded the location and outer dimensions of their housing to, with very few exceptions, be permanent else they would either have to be emptied and taken down else risk spewing or even crushing the entirety of their contents.

Not so for her resident wizard. No, the man had casually taken the folded canvas and dissembled pipe and wire frame out of his pocket and tapped it once with his wand. That was it, one tap and it had jumped out of his hand, assembled itself and grown from the size of a matchbox to having a doorflap high enough for an elf to walk through without brushing their ears against the rough material. Once again she cursed her lack of in-depth experience with runes. She knew of runes, certainly, she'd been an enchanting student for forty years and had learned three runic languages, but she was by no means a master and could do little more than copy the vast web the human had charmed a spool of thread to stitch across every seam his second day in her world.

She's seen the inside of his tent once; it was an enormous cylindrical workshop and library with a small ring of room around the central pit. The mage hadn't brought it with him from his other world, but he certainly hadn't been inactive since arriving in this one. The shelves, which started on the second level and covered nearly six stories then, were filled with books she recognized from libraries all across Dalaran, places he'd likely gotten access to via some greedy mage who'd been begging to pick his brain. The books weren't stolen however, she'd checked, and every one of them seemed to be as if they had just been freshly penned, though for the life of her she couldn't figure out how he'd found the time, even with his unusual magic.

George himself was currently sitting in the middle of the pit talking animatedly to what she hoped was one of his mirrors, fiddling with something in his hand and surrounded by a literal storm of open books of which he would occasionally call one down to reference something of other. It had been nearly a week since they'd landed on the island chain and the orange haired human had been causing explosions in that tent for the last five. If it had been anyone else she'd swear they were inventing something, but having watched the foreign wizard intensely for two weeks during their flight across Lorderan and Quel'Thalas she was fairly certain he just liked the sound of explosions and flash of lights. Though the vivid emerald and sapphire ones she saw appear like clockwork after every explosion were odd. Damage prevention maybe?

The construction of the as yet unnamed city was going well though. The mountain range on the eastern third of the northern island had provided the wizards with plenty of stone to shape into a large dock system, heavy walls, great residential towers filled with modest five room flats and enough both obvious and subtle magic to thoroughly brain even the densest human civilian with the understanding that they owed the mage city their lives and livelihoods. People were already starting to move into the towers closest to the docks where a group of environmentally obsessed mages were taking advice and orders from rescued fishermen and other sailors on what woods and shapes would be best for fashioning ships. Andrea had thoroughly enjoyed watching the docks the first two days; the expressions on the peasants faces when the self-styled 'wild wizards' had begun growing their ships from samples of wood on the spot and shaping them easily to even the most detailed suggestions had been a guilty pleasure. While she'd never personally had any magic related problems with civilians, human or otherwise, she was friends or acquainted with many mages who had.

Another far more interesting aspect of the city was revealed only to those who viewed it from above. From literally any point in the soaring towers from the rooftops to the streets below the city looked fantastic, a majestic and well ordered, if oddly shaped, metropolis with monolithic buildings, gracefully swooping roads, walkways and bridges; but if one were to look down upon the city from the height of the clouds or perhaps an accurate map… you would be presented with a much different aspect of the place. When Ansirem Runeweaver had told the gathered council and attendants that he had an idea on how to coax the light to monitor and heal the citizenry she didn't believe anyone had expected him to convince the architects to turn the entire metropolis into one big rune brand. How it remained an organized and easily flowing network of neighborhoods while every building, and piece of related architecture either was or was part of a wide spanning rune network literally boggled her mind. The arch mage must have been planning this for quite some time, though how he could have been left her stumped because the city had only been commissioned a mere six days ago.

The sheer amount of organization that was going on to forge the city out of the mountains was simply amazing to behold. Nearly three hundred thousand mages worked in concert with stone flow circles to liquidize the entire thirty by thirteen mile section of rough crags and thin plateaus and begin reshaping it into the basic structure that Runeweaver had given the cities original magical population. The scryer's of the violet eye were the main force behind coordinating the massive effort as they bent their magic's and the mirror her uncle had coaxed out of George for her towards communication between the primary architects and the 'laborers' in the ground. Most of the work groups were actually being run by elves who had been recognized for and allowed to take the position as foremen since their race had the most experience in this type of wide scale magical construction and teraforming, having built all of Quel'Thalas and much of Dalaran the same way, a point over which Kael'thas had been exceedingly smug and nigh insufferable all week.

That was something else she had been thinking on heavily for most of the week; Prince Kael. She had always known her uncle had something to do with her having gained the archmage councilman's notice, but hearing that not only had Dannik needed to call in a favor for her to gain such notice, but that he'd been holding this over both of their heads and George Weasley had somehow known about it… Oooh, how it made her blood itch! She wasn't sure whether to be thankful, hurt or just frustrated. He was just a human, and a young one at that, how could he possibly be this light damned mysterious!? He ran around the city looking for all the world like an apprentice staring at his hands in awe after their first spell and yet he casually broke the laws of magic, left, right and center, knew personal things he couldn't possibly have been told and treated his own face, and occasionally form as well, like one of the great dragons slumming it with the lesser races!

Another explosion ripped its way out of the tent flaps and rattled her scrying bowls and she growled in frustration as a goblin like cackling followed the, by now customary, green and blue flashes.

Taking one last look at one of her bowls where she could see a group of high level apprentices setting up enchanted nutrient dispensers to feed and super populate the lowest discernible element in the surrounding waters food chain, Ms. Solus stalked over to the tent with one of her more lightly enchanted crystal focusing orbs and charged it with both a low level lightning attack and a cushioning charm she'd picked up from the wizard she was intending to lob the globe at.

As she ducked inside the tent entrance she held back a small gasp at just how much space George had been able to cram inside. It had gotten bigger. On one table there stood a large rack of potions flutes filled with red liquid and surrounded by rune etched pieces of silver, open books, the occasional gemstone and pages upon pages of notes. Another had a cauldron sitting atop it, bubbling quietly whist a third was covered in crystal dust, carving tools and what looked to be floating eyeballs while the next had what looked like the cover of a book sans the pages that was covered with runework. There were dozens of other tables and work benches with other projects in various stages of completion and much in the same way as the studies of magisters in her world seemed to reflect what she had come to know as the personality and mind of its owner.

George himself was sitting on a workbench at the edge of a new area of the pit. This new area was a pit in of itself. The floor curved down into a fairly deep basin that was filled with sand and the far side and a fair amount of the rest of the circular basin was bracketed by a massive wall of what looked to be dull grey metal. Within the pit lay the remains of multiple suits of armor and corpses of demons the holy aura hadn't managed to dust just yet. Not that George wasn't trying to do the job himself, apparently; judging by the glowing patches of molten glass that speckled the arena.

"There's obviously something we're missing here, Hermione," George was saying, irritation and excitement coloring his voice in equal measure "But the fact that we've gotten this far in the first place means it can be done."

"Perhaps," a female voice replied from nearby "but the very nature of the fire is that it become harder to control as the power involved increases, you know that. Still… Have you perhaps considered Jabberings order of the forth?"

George scratched the side of his face in quiet contemplation. "I suppose that might work, but redirecting the heat with that would react badly with the containment clusters. I'm not sure they could hold the initial strain of igniting the blade."

'Hermione' laughed, it was a low and pleasant sound for a woman Andrea noted absently as she crept closer. "Hoguns radiant wall clusters aren't doing a very good job of containing your lunacy anyways, what would it matter? Honestly, you're too concentrated on Greek and Norse rune work; you should try branching out some more. Egyptian logographs could probably handle your burn control issue."

"Maybe," George replied noncommittally "I just wish I had some goblin forged silver here, there's a reason all of the best enchanted weapons had something to do with the dwarves and goblins."

"If you want, I might be able to help." Andrea spoke up, interrupting the flow of the conversing witch and wizard. "I may not be familiar with runes so much, especially those of your world, but I was an enchanter most of my life."

"Oh, what's this George?" Hermione asked, her voice teasing. "A cute redheaded research assistant? Naughty, naughty! Oh, and an elf too? What would your wife say?"

"Hey!" George whined back, his voice not quite shouting, but not angry either. "It's not like that! And as for Angelina, she'd tease me mercilessly but pretty much let it go. You already know we married as friends and support rather than lovers; it was never really intended to last, but then little Fred happened." Hermione's eyes got wide and George raised his hands. "No, no, no, don't go thinking that, we're not one of your muggle psychology texts, it's a pureblood thing and we've both exhaustively teased each other about the cliché already." The Weasley inventor then clapped his hands, "SO! Hermione Weasley, sister in law by ickle wonikins, meet my shadow, Astromancer Andrea Solus, resident spy! Shadow Solus, meet my somewhat sister, Hermione Jean Weasley ne Granger, duel professor of muggle studies and alternative magic, amateur inventor, lobbyist for the imps…"

"BROWNIES!"

"Imps, mudblood extraordinaire, and the smartest witch I know!" he turned to Andrea and gave her a stage whisper "though she did marry my brother Ron, so there's no accounting for sanity here…"

"GeeoorrRRGGGEEE!"

"Is she always like this?" the half-elf asked looking amused.

"Only when I'm teasing her. She's usually the most level headed person in Europe, but there's just something about driving up her blood pressure that I find _exhilarating_."

She smacked him across the back of the head and Hermione nodded her thanks.

"You're mean." George said, crossing his arms and doing a very good impression of a five year old with his posture and metamorph abilities. Both of the women cracked up and George released his transformation with a chuckle.

"Being serious for once," Hermione cut in as their laughter died down "We've been spending the last week trying to revolutionize magic so this idiot here doesn't go off and get himself killed playing with spells that simply shouldn't have ever been invented."

"We've also satisfying Mione's American movie fetish!" George piped in, earning his a glair form the bushy haired brunette.

"There is nothing wrong with StarWars, George, I've found it very useful in introducing my students to basic concepts. Aside from the precognitive trances it's actually quite relevant material."

"Um…" the half elf interrupted, "I'm still lost on what the two of you are trying to accomplish. If you wouldn't mind, I did offer to help."

George looked at her, suddenly dead serious. "Do you remember that spell I cast during our escape? The fiendfyre? We're attempting to solve a problem with the spellwork that's persisted for at least ten thousand years in the space of a few weeks. Aside from the basic flaw in magical resistances that allow spells that are either considered harmless or beneficial through unmolested this is the only real card I've got against the legion. Wizards of my world have lost the power your people wield so readily and I, one of the easily noticed 'powerful wizards' can't kill a demon with regular battle spells. I know, I was chain casting just about everything I could think of before I charged the big guy."

George paused, and ground his teeth before continuing. "Unfortunately casting Fiendfyre, Fimbulwyntr or Typheous are conditional at best. The spellforms consume magic at a prodigious rate and very few magics or forces can stop them short of the areas magic being drained completely, that's why they're so effective against the legion; demons are more magic than flesh. The problem with this is the spells are extremely difficult to control and require the singular focus of an incredible will to cast safely else the spells will turn on their caster just as greedily as they move to consume their target. The last two times I cast them I did so safely, and I use that term in a distinctly relative sense, because the big boss man was by far the biggest source of magic in the area and because neither I nor we stuck around long enough to let the effects reach us."

"Had we stayed, the spells would have destroyed Dalaran just as easily as it did those flights of winged Minotaurs and I doubt there's anything the six could have done to stop it."

George's last statement caused Solusandra's blood to freeze. "You're sure of that?"

"Yeah" the human replied, solemnly "Anything they tried would have simply fueled the heat of the fire or the cold of the snow." He shrugged "I suppose a strong enough counter could have minimized the effects of either, your masters and archmages can do some pretty scary impressive shit, but in the end there's only two options if you lose control of a grasping element attack, give it a better target and get the fuck out of dodge or hit it with a bunch of killing curses until there aren't any more animals trying to eat your soul."

"The killing curse?" the elf asked, confused. "Why would you name something like that? Curses are classed as such because they cause suffering, if the targets dead it's simply an attack."

George looked at her dumbfounded for a second before he burst out laughing and Hermione was forced to explain. "The Avada Kedavara is a spell that replies on the casters ability to feel hate, the stronger your hate of the target the more likely the spell is to destroy it utterly. Wood burns, stone shatters, metal rusts and falls apart and living creatures forcibly have their body, soul and mind separated in three separate directions in a manner that no magic has ever found how to rejoin them. But it's more than a simple attack because beyond the basic requirements to use it properly, which are horrible enough in themselves, the magic stains the soul of the caster proportional to the power loosed, making them cruel, unstable and generally just criminally insane. The energy is also a very particular and memorable shade of green that your world is reacquainting itself with quite well at the moment. George is getting away with using it because not only are you flooding your city with Holy magic, the requirements for quenching the elemental spell beasts is much lower than attacking anything living, let-alone a person and he's already four kinds of crazy so what's the chance of one more?"

"HEY! I Resemble that remark!"

"You seem my point?" Hermione asked the crimson tressed half elf.

Warlock magic! Andrea shuddered; they were messing with warlock magic! No wonder they were so worried about the use of their own spells. Still, George didn't seem like those monsters she'd seen caged up in the violet hold with their summons, he was actually pretty stable and likable… after a fashion. It had taken her a while to warm up to the lunatic, but given what she thought she knew of him she could give him this chance. And if not, then she was that much closer to put him down when the time came. "So, you're trying to control it," she replied after a minute or so "but how?"

"Containment fields, warped space, retooling the arithmancy, null-magic fields, all sorts of things. We were discussing trying to make the spell warp in on itself, feeding the effect into a confined area when you came in." George responded promptly. "The idea is to limit it into the space of a sword blade with the magic feeding part making the spectral blade hotter just like the normal spell, but without the barley controllable expansion problems. The problem is in the original arithmancy. Any spell we try to use to contain the fire breaks because either it's consumed to fuel the blaze or worn down to quickly to be of any discernible use."

"Why not use a focus to in enhance the wielders willpower?" the elven enchantress asked.

George and Hermione looked at each other through the mirror before responding. "Well for starters we don't know how, and for another the spell becomes harder to control with every erg of mana it consumes so we're faced with the same problem of the casters control not lasting long enough to be of any real use. Why, how effective are your self enhancement spells?"

"Pretty powerful," the half-breed replied proudly "my grandfather used one to change the course of an entire siege in the troll wars by boosting the confidence and focus of the defending elves while breaking the morale of the attacking swarm, voodoo priests and all. Unfortunately he was killed by the recent scourge invasion when he tried to do it again. The undead have no wills to break nor minds to dull, only the will of the Lich King and while he gave the betrayers death knights enough pause for us to slaughter a few dozen he was crushed by a gargoyle who dove to land on him."

George and Hermione looked at each other again. "It's worth a try George," the witch said hesitantly. "Even if it doesn't help you make my sith lightsaber such a branch of spells would definitely assist whoever wielded it once we figure out how to make it work."

"Well then," the Wheezes proprietor replied, rubbing his hands together a terrifying glint in his eye, "Let's get to work, shall we?"

~! #$%^&*()_+

Medivh looked up sharply from where he sat, examining the Old Gods tainted link to the black dragon flight. "They're early…" he muttered. He took out his vial of golden sand that the guardian had been playing with earlier. "Three weeks early." Summoning Atiesh to his hand he laid the greatstaff of Tirisfal across his knee and grabbed one of the trinkets that hung from the eagle's talons and began muttering. "And they arrived together? Preposterous!" he shouted even as a broad grin began to form over his feature.

_Wizards_ the reborn prophet thought _Elune bless them, the disruptive little __**bastards**__!_ _If the horde and Jaina's alliance arrived together then that means they're probably not fighting each other. If they're not fighting each other then it's likely their bases in the stonetalon haven't been destroyed and I've a much greater force to work with than I did before!_ He practically skipped as he paced around Onyxia in the base of the semi-active volcano.

Starting a teleportation spell he paused and looked at the great dragon queen, _what am I supposed to do with her though?_ He wondered. He looked around, the caldera was pretty stable at the moment and wasn't due to blow until deathwing came back out of hiding in another nine, ten years; as if that would affect the earth element flight mother. If she survived that long… He shrugged. He could afford to leave her here for now, the enchantment he had her sleeping under while he tried to heal her mind its various damages was quite strong and this place was an ideal lair for a brood mother, and one she would have used later… still might even. Nodding to himself the magus finished his spell and departed in a flash of light.

~! #$%^&*()_+

Thrall swore softly. The tunnel before them set off in two directions, neither of which showed any indication of being the right one. As much as he didn't want to travel with the alliance group and felt uncomfortable being so close to the paladins he equally didn't trust them not to change their minds and set up an ambush after their groups separated. As Teratha had told him once before his escape, if you couldn't kill your enemies then it was wise to keep close at hand.

Thankfully, it seemed as if he wouldn't need to. Jaina and one of Vol'jin's voodoo priests had already stepped forward and were performing some manner of spellcraft. Both passageways lit up with a variety of colors and the two mystics compared notes like old colleagues. Cairne actually had to interrupt them to learn what the pair had decided.

"The right path leads on unmolested for about five miles until it reaches the entrance to an old temple complex. Zu'wahi recognizes elements of troll slave voodoo after that, but we'd have to get closer to determine exactly what is going on. The left path holds a fair number of Quillboar and Khobolds at about half that distance, though they seem to be clustered around an item of not inconsiderable elven power. My alliance and I are going to head for the elven artifact and attempt to retrieve it, something that reflects that brightly in a probe will undoubtedly have some sort of use. The question is whether or not the horde intends to continue accompanying us or meet up later should one of our groups find the oracle."

"It is interesting how suddenly the cave fills with adversaries…" the tauren chieftain mooed sagely. "While I do not doubt the strength or skill of any hunter in this party, there is a quality in numbers. I too would like to see this artifact; I believe it might be the spirit bridge spoken of in old fire songs. It was not so long ago that the centaurs were a minor nuisance in these lands and many chieftains would venture into these caves to seek wisdom from the oracle upon rising to lead."

Thrall nodded. That offered that Cairne knew these caves. He trusted the old bull as much as their last few weeks as brothers in arms. The giant seemed like the honorable type and Vol'jin liked him, another stranger Thrall had shed blood beside and won an easy friendship with. Good. The warchief of the Horde nodded. "The Horde knows the strength in numbers, lead the way, friend." He replied, focusing solely on his fellow faction leaders.

Jaina narrowed her eyes slightly at the clear dismissal but nodded firmly as well and began issuing formation orders to her people, directing them to reinforce their companions ranks while setting one of Manastorms elemental troupe, the A dwarf calling himself the stone-warden, to begin reshaping the path behind and before them in preparations for reforging it into a proper hold.

As the group continued to on they encountered and descend upon a large group of mummified warriors and khobolds like a tidalwave. Jaina was curious how the scourge might have come to be in this place before them, but as Sirius gnawed on one of the healthier, meatier Ratmen, Vol'jin explained. "Dees not bein no human nor elf bones, lady, dees be amani work. Legends among da voodoo priests say dat dere be a tribe ah cave trolls long ago, thousands of years before even da demons came to sunder da world. Dees trolls was nasty, mon, even by our ways. Dis be der magics. No be worryin na tho, me brodas an I, we be knownin how ta keep dem down."

Shortly afterwards they came to a large chasm It was wide and relatively deep, but they could see the bottom of it well enough. Within the pit was an entire tribe of quillboar, several mountains of bones and meat, both desiccated, rotten and fresh, and a pedestal that burned with a brilliant silver magic. As the rest of the leaders and warriors began hushed conversations on tactics and strengths Jaina watched curiously as Cairne Bloodhoof wandered off on another path to the north, humming softly to himself. The old bull was up to something. Whispering some instructions to Lor'Danil the sorcerer queen followed the tauren representative up the slope, cloaked in a layer of wind magic to make herself transparent.

"Ah, here it is." The old chieftain huffed, bending down to stick his paw in a depression on the floor and pull. There was a sound like a hundred swords being drawn and then the sounds of porcine grunting and squealing became sheiks of pain and death before cutting off just as suddenly. "A nasty way to die." The bull-man brayed. And indeed it was jaina thought as she watched wide eyed the stone spikes covering every surface of the pit slowly sliding back into their sheaths, allowing the dead quillboar to fall.

The tauren began hoofing his way back towards the group, but stopped briefly beside the contemplative Lady Proudmoore. "You make a pleasant wind spirit, Jaina." He huffed before continuing his way down the mountain depths. Proudmoore gaped at the creature as he headed down. He had seen her… she grinned. She was definitely going to have to pick his brain once this was all done, she thought as she made her way down the curving ramp to join the rest of the group.

Cairne explained how he had activated a trap that guarded the pedestal and they made their way there themselves. They ran into another nest of Khobolds which Sirius took out with a bark and a cutting blade of wind, taking one of the better muscled rats in his jaws and dragging it after them. When they reached the pit The Orcs started dragging the Quillboar out and slaughtering the corpses. They had been down here for most of a day and nobody had brought any provisions so everyone was hungry enough to let it go and pitched in to help, though the tauren and trolls took to it with more gusto then the rest. Once the entire pigman tribe was cleaned, skinned and roasting over a grouping of campfires the groups mystics began examining them gem they'd recovered from the pedestal.

Cairne had a leather with the symbols on the stone seared into it, confirming that it was indeed the power-stone for this 'spirit bridge' a translucent spell that created a safe passage over a river of Lava between them and the prophet. Several of the elves looked at the stone hungrily and Jaina prompted her mages to quietly hand out mana stones. She could probably teleport everyone across this chasm they needed the bridge for easily enough, but if the tauren used it as regularly as suggested then the stone itself was part of some sort of trial for new leaders, it wouldn't then do for one of the elves to get peckish and eat the damn thing. Again she damned Arthas for his acts for and against the scourge.

As they descended deeper into the caverns twists, turns and dead ends each member of the party got their chance to prove their worth as they came across more undead not-quite-trolls, quillboar, khobolds and elemental lizards. Eventually they set up camp by an underground river where the trio of half ogers took down a particularly large elemental lizard that acted like an electric eel Jaina had seen in one of Antonidas study once. While the group slaughtered the creature for a late dinner Jaina make a point to assist in the discection so she could get ahold of the glitterstim, an organ found along the spine just below the skull that commonly showed up in magic capable beasts. It would be useful for study she rationalized as she watched Sirius tear out the heart and lope over to float it above one of the fire pits.

The next morning the group of 42 finished off the carcass and crossed the river, following various guiding spells. The effort paid off a quarter of a mile later when they came to the entrance hall of a temple deep within the caverns.

The entrance hall was large and grand with smooth shiny tiles of expertly, or perhaps magically, masoned stone. The long hallway was made of a variety of volcanic minerals that fit well with the heat that flowed its way out of the peak they had entered the day before and various members openly wondered when they would find the source of the heat. As they made their way into the room it was quickly noticed that both walls were line with large alcoves, each holding an enormous suit of armor. "Everybody form up!" Millhouse squeaked. "The armors are powered with Golum enchants! Be wary for some sort of trigger!"

As if infuriated at the loss of the element of surprise the entire hall came alive and battle was joined. Jaina was sure for a second that she heard a man chuckling off to the side somewhere, but dismissed it quickly in favor of channeling power though a rune-word on her staff to erect a shield between her and a massive metal fist. She needn't have bothered; milliseconds before the fist would have hit the golem was tackled by two of the Mok'nathal warriors Thrall had brought with him. Weaving the matrices for a brace of arcane bolts Jaina watched out of the corner of her eye as the brutes declined to beat on the figure but rather overpowered the spell holding the metal warrior together by pulling the various pieces of armor apart and throwing them across the room.

Jaina let loose a flurry of exploding bolts toward the joints of one armor that was targeting thrall, scattering it while Cairne and his honor guard hammered their way through the chestplates of another pair.

Their first casualty of the entire excursion came when one of the larger armors impaled one of Grom Helscreams apprentice axe-masters upon a wicked looking sword of serrated rusty metal. Grom _Howled_ his famous hellscream rattling the defenders more than the suits of armor as he cleaved the construct in two with a single swing of his Gorehowl. As the group recovered from their allies foolish attack Sirius held the rest of the swarm at bay with a series of concussive yips, prowling back and forth happily as he blasted the metal monsters head over heels. None of the armor golems he attacked went down permanently like the others the group had dealt with, but their fair impressions of bowling pins was funny enough to keep the animagus amused.

"Some son of Lo'Gosh you are," the demonically plagued orc grumbled loud enough to be heard as the group gathered their wits for a renewed assault "Stop playing with your prey like some sort of cat!"

Sirius turned his great head around to face the axe master slowly and growled, showing his teeth. *Here's how a true warrior howls.* he sent so the entire group could hear. Turning back to the changing Golems and took in a deep breath before letting loose. _HOOOOWWWWLLLL!_ He bellowed, letting it carry long, loud and mournful. The golems in front of them rattled with the tone, picking up faster and faster until they began to glow and smoke. As the howl ended Sirius let loose an explosive bark and the collected armors exploded.

The entire group watched silently as Sirius' bearlike mass loped over to the pile of scrap easily and lifted his leg to begin peeing on them. The rest of the group walks up to join and pass him towards the next set of doors. They'd all seen and often enough done greater, but the speed of the casting was certainly impressive. Jaina scratched her pet wizard's ears as she stopped by him and whispered "Show-off!"

Sirius gave her cheek a lick. *Couldn't have it any other way.*

As they made their way into the next room Jaina heard thrall call out. "Cairne, friend, do you recognize this trial, by chance?"

"What do you speak of, warchief?" Jaina shouldered her way through the group, aided by the soft rumblings of Sirius until she could see what the two horde members were talking about.

"This is the statue of Princess Aszune." Lor'Danil's voice rang out clearly in answer to the Tauren's question. "It claims to be a dark elf and demands that we return it's crystal heart to pass beyond this point." He gestured towards a wall if shimmering light.

Jaina gazed upon the statue as she held Sirius head beheath her arm and scratched the massive canines ears. "Go see if you can pass the wall, boy." She whispered. Sirius gave a small soft whuff and vanished with a soft pop. The statue was that of an elf but, beyond being carved quite expertly out of what looked like green granite, there seemed to be something wrong with the way it was shaped. For one thing the shape of the ears was wrong, instead of the sharp almost horn like curve it they seemed almost straight like that of a trolls and from the mouth sprouted prominite canines. Not the distended jaw and fangs of female trolls or orcs, but definitely not something she was used to seeing on the practically human elves. The stature was also far lankier with heavier shoulders than she was used to seeing. Finally, the armor seemed to be made mostly of bones rather than filigree laced leather or plate.

"Hmm," she heard Cairne mutter. "Yes, that is odd. When I was here there was a glowing soul-gem in the statues chest. I had assumed during my pilgrimage that it was a guardian of some sort that I had simply not triggered. Lady Aszune, perhaps you could tell us your purpose here?"

"_**I was the granddaughter of the one called Elune, a Matriarch of the first tribe to settle by the shapers lake. I sought to ascend as my grandmother had and take my place beside her as the Loa of Azeroths second moon, the Blue Child. For my arrogant blasphemy I was chained in the temple of our ancestors, cursed to stone to guard these halls forevermore. No my heart has been stolen and my soul is split between two locations. Return it to me so that I might rest once more.**_"

"Excuse me, lass," one of the dwarves asked "If you could explain this blasphemy, I don't quite understand it myself."

"_**Elune's ascention to Loa of the Moon was different from those that came before. She did not sacrifice many thousands of our or other tribes nor become the personification of a beast, but of a bright healing element our people could not explain. They compared her to the shapers and gave her a place among their worship of the pantheon who created the world and the glorious lake. If I were to ascend to join her not only would I require a temple, it would prove that Elune was merely Loa and not divine. My ancestor punished her priestesses for their act, but the damage was done and I rest beneath the earth beyond the reach of her light.**_"

"What is a Loa?" Jaina asked. She had some vague recollection of the word from years ago as a new student, but for the life of her couldn't remember what it was.

"Da Loa be gods a de Amani people, human." One of Vol'jin's Voodoo priests replied. "tru willin deat come eternal life and da combined powa o alla da souls involved in da ritual. The ascended entity den binds itself to a vessel thus givin itself to da land and da land gives back. All voodoo priests know dis, it be done many many times ova da history o de amanai empire, long before da rise o da prissy elves. Do dis be da firs taam Ubi'Wun hear o a Loa bein made by an elf or witout sacrifice. Da Loa be how we survived against the wars o de dak elves and der lake fueled sorceries. To tink dat de elves ad der own Loa… it disturbin, mon."

The tauren shuffled and stamped their hooves uncomfortably. "We have our own origin stories for the spirits." One of the bull druids huffed, making a clear effort not to bellow and attack. "As I'm sure do all races. Some are simply more arrogant than others."

"That still leaves us with a question." Jaina pointed out over growls of agreement from the dwarves. "Do we retrieve Aszunes heart and return it to her, or forge on without it?" She placed her hand on the head of Sirius, who had returned quietly moments before. "The barrier does not prevent teleportation spells and even then I have the power to force my way through it if need be." It was times like this, when everyone was looking at her that she wished she were still just Antonidas apprentice. She fought the urge to rub her arm self-consciously and waited for someone to speak. When little more than muttered conversations occurred to her statement she spoke up. "I'm in favor of retrieving the heart and finding a way to break Aszune's curse, not just because I feel it would be fascinating to bring her to Dalaran for a proper study of such an ancient culture but because it would be the right thing to do. The problem is, I'm not sure how much time we have before the demons spread here too and the prophet made this meeting seem pretty urgent."

The vote was nearly unanimous in favor of retrieving the artifact, though the trolls abstained, not caring either way.

As the decision was made official a set of doors to the left of the chamber they were in swung open of their own accord and Aszune spoke again. "_**My heart was torn from my chest by Goat-elves seeking to battle a dragon deeper within the temple. I wish you luck in your quest.**_"

"Goat-elves?" Everyone turned to look at the small elven contingent who themselves looked confused. The subject was quickly dropped though as the group made their way forward.

The next room was what appeared to be an arcane laboratory. The close wall was covered in bookshelves written in an odd language nobody could understand, though both the trolls and elves recognized some characters here and there, while the other held cages in which figures lay chained. Between them the main floor was covered with crates and dissection tables. Upon several of the tables the mutilated corpses and skeletons writhed, trying to attack the interlopers until they were happily smashed by Gnomish steam knight or tauren totem. The cages however were far more interesting. Within each was chained no less than a dozen figures, ranging from emaciated zombies and skeletons of a wide variety of creatures to living purple and black skinned trolls and a fire based elemental lizard. The two troll groups spoke together in Amani for several minutes before the black and purple trolls were released from their cages.

"Our dak skinned broddas agreein ta be civil an follow ya lead, warchief, but dey be dark trolls, don't hesitate to kill dem if dey attack you. A hungry troll be a most powerful opponent."

The group continued through the labyrinth of passageways in the underground temple until they found a room that was the source of the structures heat. At the back of the temple and two levels down the corridor opened up to a large cavern, alight with a cherry glow. The massive opening was filled with stalagmites and stalactites and extended back nearly an eight of a mile till the floor descended sharply into a lake of sluggishly swirling lava. Black mushroom caps of basalt formed and melted away randomly in the lake as it shifted and flowed like blood red and brilliantly yellow molasses. The lake of fire was a perfect doughnut shape and possessed two bridges set at a ninety degree angel from each other along the back wall. There was little doubt the place was artificial in some capacity and Jaina suspected the resource had been used long ago to build the structure that surrounded it. An idea that was given credence by the detritus of timeworn forge equipment dotting the back wall and the mutterings of unnaturalness from the various shamen and druids.

In the center of it all, resting in the middle of the molten pool was a large red dragon. Jaina was no expert on the great leviathans, but it couldn't be that old. Laying there sleeping as it was the drake barely cleared twenty feet in height, and would probably stand about the same at the shoulder. According to Antonidas lectures this would be an adolescent wyrm, probably no more than a century or two old if it had aged naturally. This was typically the size of the year old drakes the Horde had gorged into aging rapidly during the war. Given that war had started thrity years ago and ended a little less than two decades back they were looking at probably no more than twenty-five years old if this was an escapee from the Dragon-maw riders. Jaina wondered briefly if not quite twenty years of freedom were enough to calm and mature one of those beasts… Better hope it was an escapee from the original red flights and keep the Orcs in the back.

*Jaina* Sirius said, startling her *Keep the group back, I think I'd best take this one personally. If it sees and orc upon waking up we may have to kill it.*

"I just had the same thought," she murmured back "though I was the one who went up in that scenario." She looked around. "If only I had some water this would be much easier. I could summon an elemental to be my shield in case things got rough, but it's too hot here. Do you think you could conjure me some?"

The canine nodded. *I'm not sure how it stands up to dragons breath* Sirius replied *but I can make myself impervious to flame for a short while, I think I mught be able to enchant you as well, but you'd have to ride on my back. Together?* Sirius bowed down slightly as Jaina leapt astride his shoulders and the pair of them took off towards the lake at an easy trot, Sirius barking balls of water every few meters which Jaina used to summon herself a small army of water elementals.

"Bloody 'ell!" the pair heard one of the dwarves shout as people began to take notice of their course and actions "Lassy's got a right monstrous set ah brass ones! Little wonder she's kept a ghost wolf as a companion for seven years!"

"You expected less?" She heard Millhouse squeak as she began to pass out of hearing range. "This is the same girl who hadn't even finished the academy when she walked up to the all-but-king of Dalaran, Antonidas and publicly demanded an apprenticeship, and got it too!"

Jaina held back a giggle as she adjusted her seat on Sirius's back "I can never get over how ludicrous it all sounds when I hear people talking about me. I'm really not that impressive." Sirius's laughter rang through her mind.

*My godson said much the same thing once. This was after he'd taken on an immortal warlock at the age of eleven, an eighty foot snake capable of casting a stone cures at the age of twelve, driving off over a hundred demons who's primary attack involves a psychic assault ending in them eating your soul at thirteen and completing a tournament where he had to face down a dragon nest-mother in single combat and walk away with one of its eggs.* He detailed casually as they approached the closer of the two brides and hissed as the ground began burning his pads. _Whuff_ing a quick flame freezing charm he continued with hardly a pause.

*You're hardly unimpressive yourself. Daughter of a king and multinational admiral which alone makes you important and in a situation that puts an enormous amount of strain a child's development. You would not believe the number of nobles who grow up rotten in lesser situations and end up not worth the food they eat so you being such a personable lady is an impressive feat in itself. Then you've got an astoundingly deep mana pool and a high level of control rarely found outside of archmages even in a magic heavy city like Dalaran. You completed your basic education at thirteen; a feat most of the populations still hasn't managed by the age of thirty and as the gnome said, managed to badger a literal living legend and warhero into making you his apprentice. Not only was your master one of the six, but your two suitors were the crown prince of the largest and most prosperous human kingdom of the time and _another_ prominent member of the very same ruling council as your master, the thousand year old pureblood elf, archmage Kael'thas Sunstrider, crown prince of Quel'thalas. Your basic character and associations aside you were part of the team that killed Kel'thusad, another member of the Six turned dark lord, stayed sane when your lover, a paladin of the light for Merlin's sake, went genocidal and were personally sought out by a prophet. Your word was considered good enough that over a million people from four races uprooted their whole lives to follow you across an ocean that spans half of your world to an uncharted land nobody was sure existed and name you their leader. Do you see where I'm going with this?*

Jaina who had stayed silent through this whole monologue bent down and simply hugged him around the neck. Straightening up, she began organizing her elementals into a phalanx and made ready to tickle the sleeping dragon.

~! #$%^&*()_+

On the ninth day as the sun began to set work on the refuge city now christened Thoradin's Hope for the first human emperor and the man who brought magic to humanity and forged the first working alliance between humans and elves. Each tower was named for one of the Elves who had either participated in that negotiation or taught the original human sorcerers while the primary districts were named after various nations from the alliance. There was even a cathedral to the Holy light in the city's center, an area which was named Zhu's Terrace after an elven sorcerer who was famous for wielding both the light and various arcane magics, both of which winked and glowed merrily from the man's statue in the central courtyard. The propaganda ran thick in the air and even the simplest among the refugees could understand what was going on, though whether or not they welcomed the blatant posturing remained varied.

There was, however, a more interesting reason for the cessation of work than the very near completion of the great citadel, In the forest outside of the cities walls, a massive host of sentient beings had begun to gather in the waning light. The tribal ursa, strange antlered beasts that resembled the bastard children of bears and owls, walking trees with distorted faces, deer and stags with their upper necks replaced by what appeared to be elves and most curiously elves themselves milled about the foot hills. As the horde continued to gather the refugees of the eastern kingdoms waited with a mounting tension and baited breath. Was this native welcoming party a cause for celebration or the infant nation's first threat?

~! #$%^&*()_+~! #$^&*()_+~! #$%^&*()_+~! #$%^&*()_+~! #$%^&*()_+~! #$%^&*()_+

AN: Dun, dun, dun…

if everyone cared and nobody cried, if everyone loved and nobody lied, if everyone shared and swallowed their pride, then we'd see a day when nobody died. And as we lie beneath the stars, we realize how small we are. If they could love like you and me, imagine what this world could be.


End file.
